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T*HE lires of onr dram&tiBtB " of the great race " famish few materials for drama. They are pro* 
Tokingly barren of incident. They present neither complicated plots, nor striking situations *, 
nor well-contrasted characters. In their own age, they were oyerlooked as too familiar^in the next, 
cast aside as nnfiuhionable. The conjectures of recent curiosity are not more certain than the Syrian 
Pantheism of the Irish round towers f, the hieroglyphic dynasties of Egypt, or the earthenware 
theology of Etmria. 

Many causes may hare contributed to efface the footsteps of those great masters from the sands of 
time. Theatres were burned by accident or dedgn — demolished by authority of mob, parliament, 
corporation, and 'prentices tt Uid at last suppressed by a civil conflict, which, realizing the extremities 

* I bar pwdoa. Tbe life cf Ben Jonaon does prewnt at least one itrUcIng situation, which would make a fine 
ptetnre either on the stafs or « n canTas. I allade Co that Jnnotore, when amid a company of friends assembled to 
cnofTatiilate his discharge trotu prison, his mother produced the packet of poison, which she meant to havegWen him, 
kA<i he been sentenced to pillory and mutilation for his reflections on the King's countrymen. But is there any good 
AQthority for the story ? 

Th« fate ot Marlow was a real tragedy ; I am afraid hot too certain. George Peele was actually introduced upon 
ttfe« KtaiEe under the dcdgnation of Oeorgt Pie-board in the " Widow of Watiing Street,"* 

t Tbrise who are curious to ascertain the degree of certainty intended, may consult Mr. O'Brien's <* Round Towers 
^f Irttandr the works of Champnllion, KUproth, Ac, and the ** Biaria degli antichi Popoli Italiani, di Giueeppe 

Z A Indlcront " Ballade in prain of London 'Prentfces, and what thep did at the Cockpit Play-houee in Drurp Lane," 
*n«y be fmind in the first volume of Mr. Collier's ** Annals of the Stage," p. 402. This outrage took place in 1617. '>n 
^^nnre TueMlay, a day of general licence, barbarity, and riot ; when the London apprentices claimed an Immemorial 
f>Hrflc«e of attacking houses of ill-famv, coTering their true English love of miachief with a pretence of moral reform. 
TUe following verse may be quoted as illustrative of the text. 

** Bookes old and young on heap they flung. 

And bum'd them in the blaaos, 
Tom Decker. Ileywood, Middlcton, 

And other wandering crazies ; 
Poor Daye < liat day not 'scaped away ; 

And what still more amazes, 
Immortal Crackc was bum'd all black, 

Whicn evfry body praises." 

" Immortal Cracke ** never recoven d from his scorching ; but is dead and forgotten. Mr. Coltlor douhta whether it he 
iW name ot an author or of a play. AMuredly the latter, or perhaps the name of a character, liy the way, eraek, 
often Died by our old writers for a mischievous 'u^hln, is probably an abridgment of erack-rope. Masslnger uses the 
Wrm at full length. 

The Globe on the Bankside was hamed S9th June, 1613. The Forinne in Golding I.Ane on the Sunday night preceding 
Deomber IS, 1011. Ben Jonson sllodea^ In his Execration vpon Vulcan, to both these conflagrations. The Globe was 
iMd hy tto waddiac of the chambers (small pieces of ordnance) falling on the thatch. The cause of the Fortuned 


of tragedy and farce, absorbed all mcmoriefl, aU kopes, and IntereiitB, in itself. Lilinjies were 
dispersed, plundered, or retuled for daily sosienance. A new era of dramatic composition commenced 
with the Restoration, when the mighty labours of the past were jast old enough to be superannuated, 
and not old enough to be antique. Milton livtd on in the solitude of his blindness — the ghost and 
witness of departed greatness. Cowley and Dryden oontriyed to merit lame without foregoing 
popularity, by investing the robust intellect and subtile £uicy of a former generation in modish 
habiliments. Butler, like Hogarth, struck out a way for himself, in which he has had many 
imitators, and no rivals. But no one of these, with all their yaried excellence, was suited to create 
or sustain a taste for the imagination and philosophy which they superseded. The town and the 
court, not the people, were paramount on Parnassus, and town and court alike were subjected to 
French influence. 

But, I believe, after all, that the principal reason why so little has been told of our old dramatists 
is — that there was very little to tell. 

They might, no doubt^ have written most interesting autobiographies or reminiscences. But I am 
not aware that, in that diary-keeping age, any dramatic writer left a diary. It is hardly probable 
that many dramatists have chronicled their days. Not that they were too constantly engaged. 
Sir Edward Coke, Richard Baxter, WhiUocke, Clarendon, — ^lawyers, statesmen, kings, have left 
minute and regular diaries *. Even men of pleasure have kept an audit book of their sins, and 
recorded of themselves what one might fancy a Papist would blush to mutter in confession. But the 
life of a dramatist, dependent for his daily bread upon the caprice of actors, and the humour of chance- 
collected audiences, must be too exciting, too fragmentary, for an employment which requires a cahn, 
if not a cheerful, mind. The man whose means of existence are at the mercy of a contingent future, 
has little inclination to dwell upon the past You might as well expect the diary of a 'gamester. 

However it be, our elder dramatists have told us little about themselves, and their contemporaries 
have told us little about them. Letters they must occasionally have written ; and the letters of that 
time, when newspapers were not, contain a great deal more matter of fact than the flippant and 
sentimental missives of later date. Tet, except Ben Jonson, whose epistles ought surely to be 
appended to his works, or printed in some accessible form, has any dramatist left " a collection of 
letters 1 " There is, indeed, a short and melancholy note, in which the name of Massinger is joined 
with those of Field and Dabome ; a memorial of poverty, only less afflicting than poor Bums* death- 
bed supplication for the same trifle of five pounds. 

misfortune does not appear. Prynne of conrae ascribes both combustions to the Divine judgment The Prynnes of 
our times were equally charitable when the two *' great houses** were consumed. Lighter and saner wits do not seem 
to have taken the matter very seriously. Sir Henry Wotton, describing the fire of the Globe in a letter to his nephew, 
concludes thus :— •* This was the fatal period of that virtuous fabric, wherein yet nothing did perish but wocid and 
straw, and a few fonnken cloaks; only one man had his breeches set on fire, that would perhaps have broiled him, 
if he had not, by the benefit of a provident wit, put it out with bottle ale.**— J nnatf, vol. lit 8S0. Probably a hit at tiie 
preposterous size and padding of the femoral garments then in use. 

* There is an excellent article on diaries in D*lsraeli*B Curiosities of Literature. He does not mention the very curiuoa 
diary of Pepys, that whimsical compound of knavery and simplicity, of politics and piety, of foppery and worldly 
wisdom ; nor the yet more Interesting Journal of the excellent Evelyn ; nor Bubb l>oddington's, the honestest self- 
exposure ever made by a self-conscious, self-saticfled rogue. Mr. Collier gives some curious extracts, surely not intended 
for the public eye, from the diurnal of Sir Humphrey Mlldmay, a man t^ wit and plfoture about town In the age of 
M assinger. The following, it will be admitted, are charaoteristio Items, and evinoe good husbandry in sinning. 

£. s. d. 

'*81 Jan. 1631.— To the wanton nurse at M. Langhoniels . . .010 

To Mother Gill, a poor naughty woman • . • 1 
14 Jul. 1638.— To a pretty wench at Paul*s Wharfs . • .010 

S7 Nov. At a tavern with Ann Creaqr 8 

14 Jul. 1634 — To a Uvern with a Bona 10" 

It does not appear that extravagance was among Sir Humphrey's failinga. He was probably a Romaciat, for amonff 
Ills disbursements w« find eight shillings for a Rhemibh Testament, and three for popish books; but. perhaps, he 
kankered after all forbidden things. The MS. Is to the library at Lambeth, and may supply some valuable infonnatkm 
•o the suljcct of prices. 


icurioeitj of contemporaries has been amply atoned in the last ccntuiy. Letters, diaries, 
, fiunily papers, public records — everything in manuscript or print — has been rummaged 
le&tigable eyes. Every syllable, parenthesis, blank, and erasure, has been tortured — yea 
1, for intelligence respecting men, of whom their contemporaries hardly thought it worth 
invent anecdotes. Much collateral knowledge has been elicited by the research, and much 
I literature brought to light ; but, with regard to the immediate objects of inquiry, it has 
id to additional doubt of what was heretofore taken for gnintcd, than added to the scanty 
of ascertained facts. It is very well that so few reputations have suffered by the scrutiny ; 
the dramatists been conspicuous for either vice or folly, they would not have shared the fate 
iroes before Agamemnon. They lived in an age of personality. The great eye of the world 
then, any more than now, so intent on things and principles, as not to have a comer for the 
es of individuals. I question whether, with all our newspapers, reviews, magazines, biogra- 
id autobiographies, a more personal history could be compiled of the courts of Oeorge II T. 

than of those of Elizabeth and James. In no age have men been wanting to woo the 
f the multitude by informing them, that their Betters were no better than they. The 
IS memoirs, diaries, pamphlets, letters, so costly to collectors; "Wilson, Winwood, 

Osborne, Peyton, Sanderson," and others, who, as Mr. Gifibrd remarks, "contributed to 
« a number of scandalous stories, which should have been left sub lodice, where most of them 
had birth," sufficiently prove that kings and lords, at least, were not secured from calumny 
arknesB of their excessive splendour. Nor were all the eyes of curiosity directed upwards : 
trder, rape, or adultery, could occur without being improved in the pulpit, set to tune by 
d-ibongers *, or dramatized on the scene. In our own days, Thurtell, Corder, Greenacre, 
dy-Iahe, and the Bed-bam, have been exhibited in tearful mclo-drama. That it should be 

* ** Oraatlo. You may aee 
IVe are prepared for hanging* and confesi 
We have dc«exved it Our most bumble ault Is* 
We may not be twice executed. 

TimoUon. Twice? 
What meanest thou ? 

Ora. At the gallows first, and after In a ballad 
Sung to some villainous tune. There ore ten groat rhymers 
About the town, grown fat on theNS occa&ions. 
Let but a chapel fall, or a street be fired, 
A foolish lover hang himself for pure love. 
Or any such lilcc accident ; and before 
They are cold in their graves, some damn'd ditty *s made. 
Which makes their ghosts walk."* MASstifORR. The Bondman. 

damn'd ditties'* once composed a very considerable part of the only literature that could truly be styled 
hwift or Arbuthnot has a very humorous paper on the subject, written about the time that the penny stamp 
u^ on loom sheets. Of late, the victims of the law have been liciee executed at the minor theatres. The 
ly mnsic and nasal instrumentation of these historic ballads were a frequent theme of satire with the old 
», between whom and the ballad-makers there was no good will. 

tve not ballads made of you all, and sung to filthy tanea, may this cup of sack be my poison.**— ^oi^fa^ 

** Now shall we have damnable ballads out against ns, 
Most wicked madrigals. And ten to one, too. 
Sung to such lousy lamentable tunes.** Humorotu Lieutenant 

** They rail upon the general 
And sing songs of him, — scurvy songs to worse tunea.** 

Flktchbr's Lcjfoi Sutffeet, 

I certainly nothing so lugubrious as the cracked voice of a ballad-singer, in a dull, ill-lighted back street, on 
if bt of November. But at present, great men have worse enemies to dread than ballad-singers or plsyers. 
idles eacape the surgeons, and their skulls the phrenologists, their fame, their letters, their family secret^ 
x<onsiderwt words, are at the mercy of knavisli booksellers, radical maguaioints, ill-masked mallgners, silly- 
ters, and even honest admirers of more seal than prudence* 





so, is a reproach to the taste of the galleries themselves ; but bad taste is no novelty. The stage has, 
ere this, been indebted for plots to the Tyburn Chronicle. It is enough to mention the titles of 
The Yorkshire Tragedy," •' Arden of Feversham/' " Murderous Michael/ "The Fair Maid of Bristol * 
A Warning for Fair Women,*' " The Tragedy of John Cox of Collumpton,** kc all founded on 
recent atrocities, and decisively proving that this very illegitimate species of drama is not recom- 
mended even by originality of invention. The singularity of the old criminal tragedy is, that 
characters, some recently hanged, and others, it might be, living among the identical audience, are 
made to talk as poetical blank-verse as the authors could have put into the mouth of Caesar or 
Cleopatra. We do not read that the genuine furniture or weapons of the murderers were exhibited 
in these performances *. 
Even the license of the old comedy of Greecef, in producing living persons, sometimes of high 

* ** There ia a epccies of dram&tio representation, different from any of which we hare yet spoken, and which may 
be said to form a dan of itself :— it may be called domeetio tragedy, and pieces of this kind were founded opoa 
comparatively recent erents in our own country. Of these sereral are extant, such as ' Arden of Feversham,* the 
story of which relates to a murder committed in the reign of Edward TL ; * A Warning for Fair Women,* arising out 
of a similar event in 1573 ; ' Two Tragedies in One,* part of which is founded upon the assassination of a merchant of 
London of the name of Beech, by a person called Thomas Merry ; * The Fair Maid of Bristol,* whidi had its origin also 
in a recent tragical incident ; indeed it seems to hare been the constant practice of the dramatista of that day to avail 
themselres (like the ballad-makers) of any circumstances of the kind which attracted attention, in order to construct 
them into a play, often treating the subject merely as a dramatic narrative of a known occurrence, without embbUi^- 
•ng, or aiding it with the ornaments of fiction. BhakKpeare is supposed to have been concerned, at least, in one 
production of this kind, < The Yorkshire Tragedy * (founded upon an event in lfl(M), which was played at the Globe 
theatre, and printed with Shakspeare's name, in irJOfk The internal evidence, however, of Shakspeare's authorships 
Is much stronger than the external, and there are some speeches which could scarcely have proceeded from any other 
pen.-— f/i#/ory qfDramalU Poetry, vol. iiL 49.da 

** The Yorkshire Tragedy " is certainly much better than the rest of the disputed plays—* Pericles 'excepted ; but 
in diction, veniification, and sentiment, as well as in its subject, I agree with Ilaslitt, that it is more in the manna- of 
llcywood, the Lillo of a more Imaginative age, than in that of Shakspeare. It is. however, no argument against ita 
authenticity that the plot is not such as Shakspeare generally chooees, or could be supposed to approve. There can be 
little doubt, that he, as well as his fellows, was sometimes obliged to work to order upon stories not at all to his own 
taste. But surely, at a time so afSuent in dramatic genius, the simple merit of particuhir speeches can be no fair pntc^ 
of Shnkspeare's authorship, nor does the striking elevation of insulated passages above the level of a work conclude a 
diflTerent writer. The same man may pn^duce a few flashee of volcanic splendour, and a vast monotony of dull 

The death of Marlow might seem a tempting subject to a dramatist of the Domestic school ; but I have not seen or 
read of any previous to the short and recent attempt of Mr. Home, which contains much poetry in little spacer but 
certainly does not offend by that prosaic reality, which is censured both on moral and critical grounds. A poet, to 
tell the truth, is a very 'unmanageable character in a Poem, or even hi a prose Romsnce. 

Mnssinger has no play that classes exactly with ** Arden of Feversham," and •« The Yorkshire Tragedy," thoujih 
** The New Way to Pay Old Debts '* probably glances at recent transactions. Ford and Dekker's '■ Witch of Edmonton ** 
falls under the denomination of News-flayt, 

Tlie play-bill of one of the minor theatres, announcing <« The ITertfordshire Tragedy,** promised the identical gig 
in which Thurtell drove poor Weare to be murdered, and the identical table on which were placed the pork-chopa 
eaten in commemoration of the sacrifice. Music-sellers vied for priority In publishing the icore of the song, sung by 
Hunt on this interesting occasion. 

t ** Lbmaad Halidav, Mayor, 160ft. 

** Whereas Kempe, Armyn, and others, players at the Black-Friers, have again not fbrbom to bring upon their 
atage one or more of the Worshipful Company of Aldermen of the City of London, to their great scandal and to the 
lessening of their authority, the Lords of the I^ight Honourable the Privy Council are besought to call the said players 
befwe them, and to enquire into the same, that order may be taken to remedy the atraaei either by putting down or 
removing the said theatre.** 

From tills document It appears that the oflTcnoe was not the first of the kind ; and we may conjecture, though not 
certainly conclude, from the wording, that individual aldermen were the objects of ridicule, though, perhaps, not 
absolutely named by their registered christian and sur-namca. 

From a letter to <* certain Justices of the peace of the cotmty of Middlesex " from the privy oounoll, 10th May. 1601, 
we k>am ** that certain players, ^iio used to recite their plays at the Curtain In Moorefields, do represent upon the stage 
in their interludes the persons of some gent, of gtiod desert and quality, that are yet alive, undiar obscure manner, but 
yet in such sort as all the hearers may take notice both of the matter, and the persons that are oieant thereby." Here 




those dismal ttnciu&ries of obscure dlsbress — Alsatia or the Compter — ^were qnany too low for the 
very kestrUs of an age still aristocratic and chiyalroiis on the sorfiftce, though Democracy, the ** old 
fellow in the cellarage," was already at work below. The success or poverty of a dramatist might 
excite no more sensation than the similar vicissitades in the fortunes of a strolling player, or any 
other Unfortunate living from hand to mouth. Tet less were simple respectability and moderate 
prosperity calculated for public notice. It was not then the custom to write three or more Tolnmea 
upon every man or woman whose name had appeared in a title-page, or frequently occurred in a 
newspaper. Not every life of unpretending piety procured admission into the brief obitoaiy of a 
Gentleman^s Magazine. Personality, the rage for anecdote, the desire of publicity — though not leaa 
intense than at present — were certainly fu less diffusive. The fiwhion of autobiography and 
confessions had not yet been imported from France, for the diaries appear to have been strictly 
private. Hence we are left without direct information on that concerning which it would be moat 
important to be informed — ^the process whereby great minds were furnished and dereloped. 

Dr. Farmer has renuu-ked, in his " Essay on the Learning qf Shakapeare* that " play-writing; 
in the poet's age, was scarcely considered a creditable employ." This is rather too loosely and 
sweepingly asserted. No doubt the Puritans, the Corporation of London, and the grare, flaVci^ped, 
thrifty citizens in general, thought it a very sinful employ. Perhaps the men of business, of the 
stamp of Lord Burleigh and Sir Sdward Coke, thought it a rery idle one. But when queens and 
noble ladies did not hold it derogatoiy to perform in "Masques of BUMebness*," when plays were 

* Ben Jomoa's * MaiqiM of BlackneM ** was oompowd, aa the author himatlf deehurea, at the axpreas oonnoaaiidi 
of the queen { Anne of Denmark), who had a dedre to appear along with the fairest ladiea of her oonrt, aa a 
I doubt whether the most enthosiastio amies des noirt among our modem beauties, would willingly undergo such a 
transformation. What would the Ape say, if our gracious Queen should play such a frolic ? This masque oughi to be a 
special favourite with the Emancipated in the isles of the far west. What if it were reriTed for their benefit ? There 
is a strong rage am(»ig our nobility for the resuscitation of •■ Antique Pageantry,** and a masque, at least as ratioiial 
aa a tournament, might be rendered almost aa expensire, and would not be half so dangerous. Inigo Jonea must hare 
been an admirable oontrirer of spectacU. However mean and meagre might be the propertUs of the common stagea« 
the oourt eahiflltloos lacked no ** pomp or drcumstance," no quaint device to charm the eye and ear. The getting- 
Dp of the old masques is very minutely detailed in the printed copies. In the ** Masque of Blackness.** the queen, and 
eleven noble females, re p rw nnting the * Daughters of Niger.' ** were placed in a concave shell, like mother-of-pearl, 
ourioudy made to move on those waters and rise with the billow, the top thereof was stuck with a duperon of lights, 
which, indented to the proportion of the shell, struck a glorious beam upon them as they were ssated one abov« 
another ; so that they were all seoi, but in an extravapant order. * * * On the sides of the shell did swim six huge sea 
monstMTB, varied in their shapes and dispositions, bearing on their backs the twelve torch-bearers, who were planted 
there in several graces, so as the backs of some were seen ; someinpurfle, orsid«; others in face^ and all having their 
lights burning out of whelks^ or murex shells. The attire of the masquers ** (the queen and ladiea) * was alike in all, 
without difference, the oolours asure and silver, but retumod on the top, with a scroll and antique dressing of feaUM 
and Jewels, interlaced with ropes of pearl ; and for the front, ear, neck, and wrists, the ornament was of the 
choice and orient pearl ; best setting off from the black.** I suspect these aro the worda of Inigo himsdf. 

It must not be supposed that these high- bom masquers sooted their delicate complexions like the WowsUss of oar 
bar^aced stagee. The masque of black velvet was then as conunon as the black patches in the time of tht jfpsctafsr. 
JTbey have supplied the dramatists with frequent allusions. 

** Theee happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brow*. 
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair.**— .Anmo and JuiUL 

•* *Tis well the nusk of night is on my face.** IlHd. 

" You never can be old ; wear but a mask 
Forty years henoe, and you will still seem young 
In your other parte.** Waiting Maid to Us " OUy Madam," 

8tiU the daughters of Niger will be moro naturally represented by the natural velvet of Prince MtmnmCt HtUrt, 
when negro civilisation has reared a court and a stsge. It is interesting to speculate how the negro poets, ia 
addrsssing their smooth-skinned beanties» will vary the common phrases of European gallantry. The wwd /air, in 
ite enlarged, and perh^M original extent of meaning, must be retained, if they write in English ; for what will eore, 
despair, air, hair, debonnair, Jcc. do without it f But the rose and the lily must absolutely be discarded. I am not 
awan of any perfectly black flower, but the darkest hyacinth, transferred from the tressiis to the complexion, may 
tcrve at a pinch. The teeth may still be **quarreIeteof pearl ** {Uerrick)t or moon-light peeping through the fissures 



inbUcly acted by Mademidans and lawyers — ^when the proyiding theatrical entertainments for the 
eoQrt waa the express doty of an officer inyested with extraordinary powers, the composition of a 
poem adapted to scenic representation could hardly have been discreditable par ae. Was it 
discreditable to Sackville to hare written "Gorbodnct" Did " Oammar Ourton" preclude 
Dr. Still from the bishopric of Bath and Wells ! But then the queen and her ladies did not take 
money at the door. Neither Still nor Sackville sold their dramas to the players — there *s the rub. 
It was not creditable to be a dependant on a play-house : it was not creditable to be a servant of 
the pnblie. That man was slightly honoured for being applauded, who, for applause and subsistence, 
gave to others the privilege of hissing him. The dramatist, the genius, was admired, but his quality 
was not respected. Success, whether as poet or actor, made a man interesting, and therefore 
aeeeptable in all sodeties where wit, talent, or the reputation of either, was in request ; but his occupa- 
tion conferred no settled rank. A merchant tailor knew his place ; a poet must sit where his patron 
bade him. Literature of any sort, pursued for bread, does not, and perhaps should not, bestow the 
decided eaate of a regpilar profession ; and has never, in England, obtained the splendid honours 
which even players, musicians, and buffoons*, have received in Italy and some continental courts. 
Moreover, the character of some of the dramaUsts, and those the earliest distinguished, was not such 

of a pildby dkMid. IMaznond may bear its heraldic ligDUlcation, whidi, in the blason of nobility, it lable ; bat ivory 
aaaet fflve way to ebony. ** Vaeeinia niffra Ugutitur,'* will be a popular motto. Snow, which haa no resemblance to the 
bionaa akin mder any dlmate. and milk, and *' breaats of cream,** and ** little asure rUle," will nut do ; but chorriee 
mad marMe may keep their place, for both are aometimea black, and ao may the awan, in Auatralia ; and the native 
wkoae mlafiaaa betraya no Unt of conriot meaallianoe, may truly call her 

• Bara avie in terrla, nigroque aimillima cygno.** 

Locks Bay aUn be criip. bat tb^ moat no longer flow, they muat hold no daUia&oewith the amorooa wind, nor vie 
wtth the laadrilaaf the gadding vine, nor muat the African Eve 

•* down to her alender waiat. 

Her golden, nnadomed 

Nor mnat the ianamorato qaote Donne'a beautiful linee about '* pure and eloquent blood ; ** but rather commend the 
tonal J hna thai toUa no talae ; and here old Ben will aerve him rarely, 

*• The Sun, the best Judge, and moat formal cauae 
Of all damea' beautiea, in their firm hues draws 
Signs of bis fenrent'st love, and thereby shows. 
That in their black, the perfeot'st beauty grows, 
Binoe the fix'd colour of their curled hair. 
Which is the highest grace of dames meet fair. 
No cares, no age can change, or there display 
The fearful mixture of abhorred grey. 
Since Death herself— herself being pale and blus^ 
Can never alter their most faithful hue.** 

A proof that n e gr oes were not common in England when Jonson wrote i tar many of my readers wHl remember the 
oM sti ee t sweeper, at the Obelisk, whose hair waa'* white as wool,** quaintly reeembling the white aahea, sprinkled over 
Ibe duured Ciggots oi an exthagnished wood Are. I know not whether Ben, or rather, Pliny, is correct in stating that 

•' Otheilo** ia adapted to the negro stage, OtheUo should be a white man, and DetditMna like the «<starred 
iBthiop queen.* 

•■ The Masque of Blaidmeaa " waa repreeented at the marriage of Lady Susan Yere, daughter of the whimsical Earl 
of Oalord. and grand-daughter of Lord Burleigh, with Philip Herbert, afterwards of Pembroke and Montgomery, the 
patnm of Massingcr ; in the household of whoee anoeetors the poet was probably brought up, which must apologise for 
the length and apparsnt irrelevance of this note. 

e The actors and inventors of the Italian pantomime (which is not like ours, a speechless motion of liring puppets, 
bnt a burlesque of prorinoial dialects and humours, closely resembling an entertainment to which Augustus waa 
partial) rivalled the Paris and Bathyllua of antiquity, in the honours they obtained. Ckinstantini, inventor of the 
Meaetia, the Narelasns of pantomime^ was ennobled by a king of Poland. <• He acted Mrithout a mask, to charm by the 
heaattfol play of kis countenance, and display the graces of his figure." The Wit and harlequin Domenic sometimes 
at the tabia of Looia XIV. Tiberio Fiurilli. who invented the character of Scaramouch, had been the amuking 


as to propitiate the &voar of the serioas towarda their calling. Shakapeare aeema to have fdt thia. 
Maasinger and Heywood frequently complain of it: and Ford, like CongreTC, la CTer eager to 
diacUim the trade of a play-wright. 

But whatever of disrepute or suspicion might adhere to the dramatic art^ it certainly will not 
account for the ohecurity, not to say mystery, which hanga over the priTate transkctiona of ita 
professors. They were not excluded from the meetings of the great or of the learned. They were 
not recluse students, buried in their libraries or estranged from the bu^ worid. By &r the greater 
number of them were gentlemen of liberal education, living in the lull career oi society. Nor, had 
it been otherwise, would they have escaped notice, had their destinies been anywise remarkable, or 
their characters impressed with eccentricity. Tour ** way of life " cannot creep along in such foriom 
or shady sequestration, but you will be found, if any one think yon worth aeeking for. Neither in 
the city 8 indistinguishable multitude nor the country's too conspicuous singl^iess, can the man be 
secure from publication whose humours will enliven a £uce, whoae physiognomy will suggest a 
caricature, or whose adventures may form the ground-work of a novel If we except Shakspeare;, of 
whom little is really known but the comfortable &ct that» after writing the finest plays in the world, 
he retired on a moderate independence, and died, alas I prematurely, near his native town ; and Ben 
Jonson, who has told us something about himself and whose scholarship achieved a place among the 
weightier intellects to which the genius of Shakspeare never aspired, of which among the dramatiata 
are most anecdotes extant t Kit Marlow, George Peele, and Robert Green. Had Ford and Massinger 
been like them, — their jests, their follies, their sad catastrophes, would not have perished for want oi 
historians. There is no human creature so insignificant but may become fiimous for vice, sedition, 
lawlessness, or bufibonery. The police reports and the Newgate Calendar are rolls of fiime from 
which no degree \a excluded. The rogues and hariots of less inquisitive ages have not sinned or 
suffered without a memorial We know almost as much of Rowland Torke * and Captain Stukely 
as of Spenser or Drayton. Sir Jeffrey Dunstan the mayor of Garrat f, and Sir JeflOrey Hudson the 

Gompanlan of th« boyhood of Loais XIV., and from him MoUtoe learned mocdi, as appear* by th« lines onder his 


*■ Get illostre oommMien 

De eon art tra^a la carritee, 

n fut le maltre de Molidre, 

Et la Nature tut le eten." 

" This rare comedian drew the chart. 
The line and prosreae of hie art ; 
He taught Molitee, that hnmorooa elf. 
What only Nature taught himeelf." 

The laet lines of an epitaph, on one of theee pantomimic aotars, may be applied to many of them during their 
flouridiing period. 

••Tonte ia Tie n fait ii tin, 

n a faitplenrer k aa mort" 

* All his life he kept ua erowing. 
Dead— ho aeta our tears a flowing.** 

Benreral of Oiess admirable aelors were litciary men, who have written on their art, and shown thai It wm mm. 
The Harlequin Ceoohini oompoeed the meet anolent treatiae on this subject, and was ennobled by the B mp e i o i 
Matthiaa ; and NichohM Barbieri. for his ocoellent acting, oalled the « Beltrame," or *« MHaneM Simpleton,'' tells mu, 
in hie treatiae OB comedy, that he wae honoured bjr the oonverwtion of Louis XHL, and rewarded with tottua^^-^ 
D'ltragirt CuHoriU€*,ns. 

The Engllflh nobUity would ill endure to have a harlequin made partaker of their bononn ; and I doubt whethsr 
a Uw^Ud monart^ oould with propriety admit eren a Grimaldi to hia tablek 

* I muat oonfeae that all my knowledga of theee worthies la derived fkom a note In the ** Monastery.** Thej were 
probably fafar enough eamples of mun tAout town, aa they were before profligacy put on the garb of aantlment Of 
anch chanctera we find many spedmena in the old playa^ auoh aa "The Torkahiio Tragedy,** •«I«ondon Prodigal,** 
«' How to know a good Wife from a bad one,** die. la it in compliment to Rowland that the mOmI editor of a oertafai 
periodical aaaomed the titie of «' OUvvr Torke 7 '';aii*r{y la the hero of •* The Battte of Aloanr.** writtm, aa la snppoaed. 
by OeorgoPeelo. and of another phqrezpreaSly oalled ••Stukely.'* The name seems doomed to dramaUelnliMny. 

t In Hone's *< Table Book,** second Berka,wlU be found a portrait and memoir of the onoe weU-known Sir Jefl^ 

dwarf*, lire still In the pages of eccentric biography ; and Morland, as a man, is better known thou 
Hogarth. On the other hand, high intellectual celebrity does not always confer personal notoriety, 
or presenre the ercnts of a life from oblivion. In truth, the hest and happiest lives are generally 
the least entertaining to read. It may be regretted that quiet, useful, unostentatious virtue so 
•eldom tarrives in the world's memory : but the regret is foolish and presumptuous ; and I am by 
no means assured that the modem custom of courting fjEime, for qualities sufficiently rewarded by 

who aarred Um mob in the double capacity of fool and dwarf. He was a foundling ; picked up in the pariih to which 
iMowed hie name ; but no fairiea took charge of him, as Charles Lamb aesures us they did of Sir Thomas Gresham. 
Be was ahandfinsd to the muddy patronage of Triria and Cloacina ; yet he was, awhile, a great man in his w^, 
•speciaUy at Westminster elections. Lamb, who well remembered him when •* in his sear and yellow leaf * he took 
refuge in a hovel near BeChnal Green, has described his forlorn grimness in a paper of pathetic humour, such as Elia 
alooe could write. 

* •* JcArey Hudson, when he was about seven or eight years old, was served up in a cold pie, on the Burleigh Hill, 
the seat of the Duke of Buckingham, and as soon as he made his appearance, presented by the duchess to the queen, 
who retained him in her senrice. He was then but eighteen inches in height. In a masque at court, the gigantic 
porter. (Will Evans) drew him out of his pocket, to the surprise of all present He is said to have grown no taller till 
hm was thirty, when he shot up to three feet nine. Soon after the breaking out of the civil war, he was made captain 
la the king's army. In 1644, he attended the queen into France, where he had a quarrel with a gentleman named 
Grofta, whom be challenged. Mr. Crofts came to the place of appointment, armed only with a squirt. A teal duel 
■Dsoed, in which the antagonists came to the field on horseback, and fought with pistols ; Crofts was killed at the 
flnA shot.*— Dr. Hudson's History nf London. 

U ever duellist d eser red an honourable acquittal , little Jeffrey was the man. He was bom at Oakham in Rutland- 
alikv : very proper that the least man should be bom in the least county ; and no less proper that his birth should 
be p reee d e d by a comet, which was actually the case, for there was a comet in 1618, and Jeffrey was bom in 1619. 
Like Pirlam, Pompey, Belisarius, Napoleon, and other sports of fortune, he exhibited in his latter years a sad contrast 
to the falicltiee of his outset He experienced the same neglect as other faithful cavaliers of larger dimensions, waa 
wmsiltted to the GAt»>houseb under stupldon of the popish plot I and died a prisoner, aged sixty-three. I believe his 
eonveyaaoe in the body of a bass viol, and other particulars recorded by Sir Walter Scott in his*' Peveril of the Peak," 
to be altofstber apooyphal ; but there may be some ground for his addiction to alchemy and the mysteries of the 

The Royal Martyr had a passion for those irrcgularitiee of nature, which were once common appendages to evesy 
legal and baronial establishment Most readers will remember Waller's pretty verses on the marriage of the dwarfs* 
whioh was negotiated by King Charles, who gave away the bride :— 

«* Design or chance makes others wive, 
But nature did this match oontrivek 
Eve might as well from Adam fled, 
As she deny'd her Uttle bed 
To him, for whom Heav'n seem'd to frame 
And measure out this only dame." 

TIm marriage was productive : but If the king's Intent was to perpetuate a miniature race, It was disappointed ; for 
the ehildrsn grew to the ordinary sice. We cannot call this princely partiality for human lusus natura, a remnant 
of Gothic barbarism ; the taste is daosical, nay Augustan. ** Habent hoe quoque dtlieUs dMtum / malunt quarere 
0mnia contra nsUuram. Oratus tst ills debilitaU / iUe ipsa ii\felieitate disiorti corporis plaeett alter emitur quod 
mlieni ecioris est^" says Quintilian. Clemens Alexandrinus severely censures the passion of great ladies for deformed 
yets, npoo whom they bestowed csresses for which their lovers sighed in vain, and which their husbands oould not 
alwajs command. Ammlanns Maroellinus describes the wealthy madams of his days, attended semiviro eomitatu, 
jomg and old, but generally dusky, misshapen, and ill- favoured. Augustus Is said by Suetonius to have disliked these 
waifb of aatursb and shrunk from them as of ill omen. Pumilos, atqus distortos, et omnes generis tjusdem ut ludihria 
umtmrm et wtali ominis abkorrebatt yet the same historian relates that he compelled a youth of good fomily, named 
Ladas. to appear on the public stage, because he was under two feet In height, and weighed but seventeen pounds, 
had a prodigions voice.— 1. IL 43L We need not wonder that Domitian, at the gladiatorial games, was constantly 
by a scarlet-robed little urchin, with a preternatural small head,— putfrttJtM eoeeinatw parvo portentosoque 
ompUo—tat the palled appetites of despotism seek for stimulation in everything monstrous and abortive. But better 
taale mii^t have been expected of Charles, who was capable of appreciating the beautiful in art, and doubtless in 
Batane aleoi Be it recollected that this odd sort of virt4 was not without its uses in rader ages : It procured an 
■sylnm in the bousss of the affluent, for many helpless beings, who, even now, to the diigrace of our police, are 
ited In oaravana, and dragged about the country by bratal show-men. •* God tempers the wind to the 


peace of mind, an approTing conscience, and the afieeUonaie esteem of a worthy few, is not one of 

the wont symptoms of the times. Qood people in a private station should be thankful if thor liTes 

are not worth writing. Public virtues exerted for public ends, the worthy issues of mighty minds^ 

filly aspire to publicity, and are justly rewarded with fame. "A dty Met ana hill eannoi be hid,'* 

But the virtues of home ; the houriy self-denials, so habitual as hardly to riae above the horiioii of 


** That best portifm of a good manViUfia,-* 
His little daily unreourded acts 
Of kindnMi and of Ioto," 

the virtues, which, in either sex, are inherited from the mother, and consist in being rather than in 
doing, permit no stronger light than gleams from the fireside. They flourish best when unobeerved, 
even by those who inhale joy and goodness from their fragrance. Of them it may truly be said, — 

** The principle of action onoe explore. 
That instant tis a principle no morew** 

They can be undeniood by none, and knoum only to those who love the good beings whom th^ 
actuate, — and by loving know them. For in the spiritual world there is no knowledge but by love. 
In our essential selves we neither can nor ought to be known to any but to those whom we love, and 
who love us. There is a worse than indelicacy in soliciting the gaze of the world by laying bare the 
sanctities of afiection ; the firailties by which we may be endeared to our kindred in blood and soul, 
but should neither be admired nor judged by the ignorant unsympathising multitude. It is enough 
if our works have no need to shun the public eye, which they ought sometimes to seek, and never to 
fear. Bender unto Ccuar the things that be Ccuars. But in ourselves ; the veiy things we are, we 
are only Qod's : we belong not to the world, — no, not to our own wiU. A good lieart is a Holy of 
Holies, not to be profi&ned by unconsecrated gazers. 

There is no vanity so pernicious, so heart-emasculating and heart-hardening, as that of which the 
heart itself is the object Better be vain of your brains, your figure, your dress, your fiu^ your 
muscles, your purse, or your pedigree, than of your heart People enamoured of their own goodness 
generally entertain a sneaking partiality for their bosom sins. "The pride that apes humility" 
produces fitr worse consequences than " cottages with double coach-houses ; " but none more dangerous 
than the self-gratifying disclosure of weaknesses to which certain cor^fessors are so prone. Now this 
vanity and this pride are greatly nourished by a fiishionable sort of biography, which stages the 
minutest passages of every-day existence, — exhibits the child or the female at their prayers, in their 
little round of charity, in their diet and attire ; and makes the death-bed itself a scene of display. 

The age of the great drama was neither a happy nor an innocent age. It was a time of much vice, 
much folly, and much trouble ; but it was also an age of prodigious energy. Everything, good or 
evil, was on a colossal scale. The strength of will kept equipoise with the vigour of intellect There 
were too many to admire themselves and others for potency in ill, not a few who sought and obtained 
6clat by the inventive extravagance of their absurdities — ^but no one valued himself or others for 
petty amiabilities or amiable weaknesses. It was an age of high principle and of vehement pasnionfl, 
not of complacent sentimentality. Hence the minor and negative virtues, which are all thai a poor 
man in general can display, and the trivial accidents which make up the sum of private existence, 
were suffered to join the vast silence of forgotten moments, without note or comment : and hence, I 
conclude, that of our greatest dramatic artists little has been told, because there was little to tell ; 
little to gratify the malicious curiosity which fed on corruption ; and little which the better sort 
considered worthy a lasting record, — ^though doubtless much that exercised the patience and evoked 
the noblest Acuities of the dramatists themselves. 

Great part of this induction may resemble the inductions to some of our old plays, which might 
suit any play, being appropriate to none ; but for lack of better it may serve as an apology for the 
very brief biographical notices which I can prefix to the present edition of the surviving works of 
Massinger and of Ford. For these few particulars I am indebted to Mr. Oififord. I am not aware 
that subftequent inquiry has added anything material to the facts which he has gathered with such 

commendable indastry and illustrated with so mach critical acumen, nor that he has been conyicted 
tt any important error. I have not access to those sources from which alone fresh intelligence can 
be expected, but I belieye it has been sought diligently and in vain by more competent persons. 
Indeed, few authors of equal merit and reputation hare been so little noticed by contemporaries, and 
none so nearly forgotten in succeeding times. Shakspeare, Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, wera 
always great names ; and Fletcher, long after the Restoration, retained a large share of theatrical popu- 
larity. But Masainger and Ford were hardly ever acted, and hardly ever read. Even Dr. Johnson 
does not seem to haTo been aware that Rowe was beholden to Massinger for the plot of his 
" Fair Penitent^"— and the Doctor had no 8uch partiality to the Whig Laureate as would induce him 
io diswmble a feet not very creditable either to the originality or the honesty of Rowe, — ^who must 
have strongly assured himself that Massinger was an unknown writer, or he would not hare ventured 
to publish his borrowed play without a hint of acknowledgment. The long disappearance of these 
excellent works may be partly attributed to the want of collected editions. It does not appear thai 
there was any entire publication of Massinger before Coxeter, or of Ford before Weber*. 

Those who derive pleasure or improvement from the works, will doubtless wish to be better ac- 
quainted with the men, — would have rejoiced if they had left us some touching or cheerful recollections 

^ I BflfTcr WW ••Cdjutar^ MMringer,** nor oolUted Monk Maaon'i, and liave therefore neither the right nor the 
t ncHnetten to repeat Qlffard'e ever-reourreo t earoaems on their imperfections. The serrioes uf Mr. OifFord, as an editor 
of the text, eaa hardly be orerrated : his arrangement of Massinger'a rerse. places him on a level with Porson as a 
■laeUar of tlM res wttirUa g his antiquarian illuBtrations are ourluns and learned, without any of that EtaUige of obecore 
readSag, vbieh swells eo many editions to an elephantiasis; and if he partook a little of his favourite Ben*s acerbity of 
laaipsr. much shoold be ftiffiven to a man who, I believe, had no real malice against any human being, who was 
■Bflerfsd and naltreated at the period of life which should stora up happy feelings to serve for the remainder ; and 
vtM ia cl s t e d , in the hearing of Mr. Southey, that he never had a day of Joyous health. Still, as Lord Byron, or hia 
aanotatar. has wM obserred, it is unpleasant to take any man's pr«^udioe for a travelling companion, be it through a 
eo«ntfj, or through a book. How can we expect forbearance, or tolerance, in diq)utes of politics or religion, when a 
4lspatad rwadlng of an old play is capable of agitating the bile so furiously ? 

Howe, It is said, formed th« plan of an edition of Massingpr. but abandoned it for reaaons best known to himself That 
which beara thenameof Coxeter, was first published in 17fi9, twelTC years after his death, by a bookseller of the name 
of DcU. Ckneter, tmm the account of Sir Egerton Brydges, in his additions to the ** Theatrum Poetarum,** appears to 
have been a man of fortune, a diligent collector of old plsys, and the first projector of Dodsley's collection. In preparing 
hti Msseingfr he availed himself of some B18. notes of Oldys, which, if the statement of the antiquary be correct, he 
did not ocone over honourably by. As he did not lire to complete his deftign, the absence of acknowledgment should not 
he laid at hi* door. " When I left London," says Oldys, " in the year 1784, to reside in Yorkshire, I left in the care of 
the RcT. Mr. Burridge's family, with whom I had sereral years lodged, amongst many other books, a copy of * Langbaine,* 
la wbidi I had written several notes and references to further the knowledge of these poets. When I returned to 
London in 1790, 1 anderstood my books had been dispersed, and afterwards becoming acqiudnted with Mr. Coxeter, I 
iouad that he had bought my 'Langbaine* of a bookseller, as he was a great collector of old plays and poetical hooka. 
Thia must have been of great service to him, and he hat kapt it so ear^lly from my tight that I never could have tha 
•pportuni^ of transcribing Into this I am now writing the notfs I had collected in that. Whether I had entered any 
fcmarka on Massinger, I remember not, but he had communioatluns from me concerning him, when he was undec^ 
taking to give us a new edition of his plays, which is not published yet" This might be legal, but was hsrdly the part 
of a gentlwnan. I remember to have heard one that is with God, compare a plagiary from M8S. to a certain parasite 
ttaft fsstws to the roots of plants, and deprives them of their due nurtare» while none can tee the oause of thair 

Ib ITO, a reprint of Cozeter's Massinger appeared, under the auspices of Thomas Davlce, the biographer of Oarriok* 
of the stage, whose pfettif wife has been very impudently mentioned by Churchill. This edition was 
by an Essay on the old English Dramatic Writers, by the older Colman, addressed to Oarrick. It waa 
mlled ■• very eorrect," by Bishop Percy, perhaps out of pure good nature. *' Monk Mason'sb** as Mr. Gilfbrd say^ ** la 
Uttia more than a servile copy of it, with all its ermrs." 

As for Weber, to the exposure of whoee blunders Mr. Gilford has devoted no less than one hundred oanatio pages (a 
better method than obtruding the vituperation at the foot of every page), he was an unfortunate German, whose name 
mm be fsmilter to all readers of Lockhart's •* Life of Sir Walter Scott,** on account of the wonderful presence of mind 
displayed by Sir Walter In controlling his mania. It was certainly a presumptuous undertaking of a foreigner, not 
critically acquainted with our language, to become the editor of our ancient writers, and rather odd that any bookseller 
should select him for the purpose. But the offence is hardly worthy of a caatigation severe enough for a wilful oomiptef 
of holy writ. Poor fellow ! he is gone. Requietcat in pace. 

of themaelres,— if some relaiire or well-acquainted friend had done for ihem what bo many aona, 
wivefl» and ezecutora, have done for persons, it may be, leas likely to be remembered a centoiy 
hence. We would gladly overlook them at their desks, accompany them in their sabnrban walks, be 
made confidants of their lores and partakers of their friendship, hare joined them with their greaX 
compeera and jovial comrades at their erening recreations^ hare known what manner of men they 
appeared to those who saw them in the body and heard them converse in plain prose like men of this 
world. Above all, wc would fiun be enabled to trace the progress of their minds, the education of 
their genius, the sources of their knowledge, the action of circumstance, the working of the spirit of 
their age, and of its wonderful proceedings on their moral and intellectual constitution. But our 
curiosity will never be gratified ; and we ought gratefully to remember that we possess a luTf^ and 
noble sample of so much of their complex being as is capable of an earthly permanence : for intellect 
alone can put on a shi^ of earthly immortality, and become an everiasting and irrefragable witness of 
its own reality. Neither poets, nor painters, nor sculptors, nor even historians, can erect living monu- 
ments to any but themselves. The ezactest copy of the fairest hce, or the loveliest soul, becomes in 
a few years a mere ideal, only commendable as it expresses universal beauty or absolute goodness. 
Only the painter's or the poet's art is really perpetuated. All — ^but the mind— either perishes in 
time, or vanishes out of time into eternity. Mind alone lives on with time, and keeps pace with the 
march of- ages. Beauty, ever fleeting and continually renewed, does its work, then drops like the 
petals of the blossom when the fruit is set Valour and power may gain a lasting memory, but 
where are they when the brave and the mighty are departed 1 Their effects may remain, but they 
live not in them any more than the fire in the work of the potter. Piety has a real substantial 
immortality in heaven ; its life is laid up with God, — but on earth its record is but a tale that is told. 
But intellect really exists in its products ; its kingdom is here. The beauty of the picture is an 
abiding concrete of the pidnters vision. The Venus, the Apollo, the Laocoon, are not mere matter 
of history. The genius of Homer does not rest, like his disputed personal identity, on dubious testimony. 
It is, and will be, while the planet lasts. The body of Newton is in the grave, — ^his soul with his 
Father above ; but his mind is with us still Hence may we perceive the superiority of intellect to 
all other g^ifts of earth, — its rightful subordioation to the Grace that is of Heaven. 

Philip MASsnroxB, the son of Arthu^ Massinger by a mother whose name is unknown, was bom 
sometime in the year 1584. It does not appear that his register has been discovered ; but most 
probably his native place was at or near Wilton, the magnificent seat of the Earls of Pembroke, to 
which illustrious fiimily his fikther was a confidential retainer. To this fiict we have the express 
testimony of the poet himself, in his dedication of " The Bondman," to Philip Earl of Pembroke and 
Montgomery : " However I could never arrive at the happiness to be made known to your Lordship, 
yet a desire to make a tender of all duties and service to the noble fitmily of the Herberts descended 
to me from my dead fiither, Arthur Massinger. Many years he happily spent in the service of your 
honourable house, and died a servant to it, leaving hisiohe ever most glad and ready to be at the 
command of all such as derive themselves from his most honoured master, your Lordship's most 
noble fiither." 

We are not certified of the situation which Arthur held in the noble household, but we may be sure 
that it was neither menial nor mean. Service in those days was not derogatory to gentle birth. 
The highest characters in the state had been pages, and learned from their attendance on noble ladies 
no little of their chivalrous gentleness, their duteous phrase, and enthusiastic loyalty. It was no 
more disgrace to knight or statesman to have been a page, than to a lord mayor to have been an 
apprentice ; and as the first municipal magistrate would never blush to acknowledge that be had 
closed his master's shutters, so would not a Raleigh or a Walsingham have thought shame to be 
reminded that they had sometime held a lady's train. And yet pages were subject to a discipline at 
which apprentices now-a-days would revolt ; but then under-graduates were not exempt from the 

*< Art thou nsrce manumtoed from the porter*! lodfe. 
And now iwom serrant to the pantofllev 
Anddarettthoudresmof nuniafe?'' New Wap to Pa^f Old Debts, Act h 


th Welbom in his rags to young AUworth in his page's gay attire, manifestly reflecting on his 
alone, and not on his rank, which was more than respectable. Perhaps Massinger had some 
«nce in the fiunily of Pembroke in his recollection while writing the passage. 
B is a state of things thAt never can be reinstated. But it was good in its day, and tended to 

serritude and subordination, through all degrees, a dignity and self-respect highly £iyourable 
d govemment and to rightful liberty. Too many at present regard serrice with feelings only 
r to a land of slaves. No reciprocal duty, no natural or religious bond, is acknowledged on 

side : and it needs must be, that the lowly will consider that as an insult which their superiors 

1 as a calamity or a stain. The senatorial rank of the bishop "gentles the condition" of the 
{t curate whose life is becoming of his function ; the youngest ensign in a marching reg^ent 
Ited by l»elonging to the profession of the Duke of Wellington. In a well-ordered state, — a 
)f graduated dependence and universal interdependence, — honour should flow, like the precious 
ent^ from the head to the skirts of the garment. 

. we have more direct evidence of the high estimation in which Arthur Massinger stood with 
>ble master, from the important mission wherewith he was intrusted. In the Sidney letters, 
. p. 033, we may read, — " Master Massinger is newly come down from the Earl of Pembroke, 
etters to the queen for his lordship's leave to be away from this St. George's day." The bearer 
h a request to so punctilious a lady as Queen Elizabeth, must at least have been a gentleman. 
Lhe £unily of Herbert *, with which the Massingers were thus honourably connected, there are 

te arigin of this family wu Welsh. Sir William Ap Thomas of Ragland Castle was knighted for his aenricee in 
mob wars by Henry Y., a monarch whose iiffection for his native principality has been Immortalised by Shak- 

dcmbtless on chronicle authority : though the praises of Cambria oould not be unacceptable to the Tudors, 
reputed descent from King Arthur commended their dynasty even to their Sassenach subjects, many of whom were 
bellcTers In the prophecies of Merlin, and perhaps imsgined in the aocesaionof Henry VIL the promised resnsci- 
of the hero of the Round Table. Shakspeare, moreover, who peaaod many happy days in Wales, was evidently 
iclined towards Welshmen, as the pleasant humours of Sir Uugh Evans and of Captain Fluellen, the moet 
e of all his ludicrous characters, sufficiently testify. The posterity of Ap Thomas, prubably from some intcr- 
ge, took the name of Herbert. William Herbert, whom Izaao Walton calls the ** Memorable,** was created 
' Pembroke by Edward IV. 1469^ The peerage expired in his son Richard, whose daughter married Charles 
et, first Earl of Worcester. Ragland Castle must have gone with her, for it was a Somerset and a Worcester 
ifended that fortress, the last that held out in the King's cause, with such heroic loyalty. From Bwyas, a 
I son of William the first Earl of Pembroke, came Sir William, in whom the peemge was restored. **He was 
commissioned to view the fortifications of Berwick ; and on the 17th of February, 15fi2-3, he rode into Londtm 
nanskm of Baynard Castle with three hundred horse in his retinue, of which one hundred of them were gentle* 

plain blue cloth with chains of gold and badges of a dragon on their sleeves." Debrett, to whom I owe what 
f heraldic lore I possess, has not told us from what chronicler he borrows this piece of history, but it smacks of 
ire, and is curioukly illustrative of the manners of that time. It may be as well to observe that a wivem vert 
^nnbroke crest. Earl William married Anne, daughter of Lord Parr of Kendal, and sister to Queen Catherine 
y whom he had issue two sona The elder. Henry, the petron of Arthur Massinger, succeeded his father as 

Pembroke, and sat on the trials of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, 1571 > and on that of Mary, 1686. He was thrice 
L His third wife was the sister of Sir Philip Sidney, to whose request we owe the Arcadia, which wears her 
■ A Cavoor ; on whom Ben Jonson wrote the famous epitaph— 

•< Underneath this sable hearse 
Lies the subject of all verse, 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother 
Death, ere thou hast slain another 
Learned, and fair, and good as sha. 
Time shall throw a dart at thee." 

taph. which though happily turned. Is too hyperbolical, too clever, and too conceited to be Inscribed on a 
sn's tomb. The sweet and brotherly dedication to the Arcadia does this great lady far more honour than Jon* 
mb fpiffr^w^ Of all the writers of that true sge of cbivalrouR courtship. Daniel host knew how to address 
f to female greatness. He was in earnest, nnd could do honour to the rank without adulation ; to the sex, with* 
rping the langusce either of love or of devotion. His epistles to the Countess of Cumberland, to the Countess 
Fiml, and to the Lady Anne Clifford (who>« preceptor he whs) are among the finest moral poems in the world. 
Ikatii>n uf Cleopatra to Uie Countess of Pembroke is not ») gi»od The most Interrtiting part of it is the stanxa 


many pAiiegyrica^ bat none more piihy and ralaable than that of good Ixaak Walton, who mi^t well 
be the most delightful of biographers ; for who, with such affluence of information, had liyea of sodi 
Christian excellence to record 1 Speaking of Qeoige, who sanctified the name and pedigree, he sajs^ 

whorelnha Uunen to the narrow range of Um BngUah toogne, which depriy«d oar poetry ef the Baropen fune of tha 

eUHsic and Italian hards : 

** Oh that the ocean did not hound our etyle. 
Within these strict and narrow limito so^ 
But that the mdody of our sweet isle 
Might now he heard to Tiber, Ame. and Po, 
That they may know how far Thames doth outgo 
The music of declined Italy.** 

The complaint long continued Just. Voltaire maliciously inquires, whether 8hakspeai« was erer heard of out of 
England. Boileau, upon reading Addison's Latin rerses, aflfected surprise that an Englishman could he a poet, and 
gurssed that there might be something worth looking at in our whistling Ternacular, which Charles Y. was for talking 
to the birds. Bayle knew nothing of Milton but that he was the opponent of Salmaslus and Moras ; and Qnadrio» a 
rolamlnous Jesuit, who wrote a huge work. *• Delia storia e ddCragione d^agni pttesiar which Mr. Disraeli, to whom 
I sm indebted for my knowledge of the worthy Fathe^^t name, has toiled through, at the commencement of his laboon 
knew of no English poeto but John Gower, Arthur Kelton, flourishing 1248. (John Skelton ?) and William Wydierly. 
Not till his fourth volume had he discovered the existence of Shakspeare ; and in his fifth he qwaksof *<11 celebre 
Benjanson." and his comedies of ** Bartolomco Foioere" and **Ipsum Veets," which latter Mr. Douce coqjeclnred to 
be Shadwell's " Epsom Wells." Upon Milton he is a little better informed, for he says that he qpoke of Christ like aa 
Arian. To make amends, however, for his slight notices of our literature, evidently derived partly from Voltaire and 
partly from the mouth of some illiterate English tourist, he compliments us on a great Improvement in the medumlsm 
of puppet shows ! ! ! Mr Disraeli ascribes this continental n^lect of our writen to our own neglect of bibliography, 
which left foreignera without a guide in their researohes. BIbliographera are very useful to those who like to talk of 
books they never saw ; but I rather suspect that the long-continued insulation of our literature Is to he ascribed mainly 
to the unnatural coxcombry tut our polite travellen, who afTected to depreciate their mother tongue, and babble In vila 
French and worse Italiiua about the superior beauties of southern Idioms. Something must also be attributed to 
the real difficulty of our language, and ite har&hness to unaccu»t4imed ean ; something also to national and rel^foua 
prejudice. Many of our books could not safely be read In Spain or Italy : the best of than were In open rehellioii 
against the French Academy ; and (Germany was not yet a literary region. At all evento tlie caae is far dlffarent at 
present. Shakspeare is even a greater name In Germany than in our own land. I have seen Retsdi's fllustntiona 
of ** Hamlet," ** Macbeth," &c. with explanatory quotations in German, French, and Italian. Our popular novels are 
even translated into Spanish. ** Tom Jones" indeed has long been a favourite in Spain. It may be ranarked. that 
the most intensdy national works acquire the widest reputation. lIogArth is as well known and as much admlrod in 
Germany as in England, and yet he is John Bull all over. The Scotch novels were pablished in Fren^ and Gennaa 
as soon as they appeared in Edinburgh. The fancy and imagination of Britain are leavening the whole mind of 
Europe; and in the commerce of lettera, we are no longer, as heretofore, an exclusively Importing nation. 

B£9en0nt d not moutont. The Countess of Pembroke was herself a poetess and a dramatist, hut I cannot prstaid 

to have ■sen any of her productions, therefore cannot decide how far they Justify the oommendationa of Denial, who it 

more complimentary than usual in their behalf. It appean that she veraifled soom portiona of the Pialinsb for thai 

rings her eologiat I— 

•• Those hymns which thou dost consecrate to heavMit 

Which Israd'it shiger to his God did frames 

Unto thy voyage eternity hath given. 

And makes thee dear to him from whence they oaroeb** 
If so. it is a pity they are not authorised to be sung In ehurehes, for the present versions are a ^ir*'^ and a mlaeliief 
to the estehlishment By nothing have the Diasentera nmde mora way than by their evangelical bynms and ooa> 
gregational psalmody. The countess's tragedy is ealkrd " Antony,'* and is a trsnsUtion from Robert Gamier, an eariy 
French dramatist, whose plays have been skilfully snalysed, with admirably translated specimens, by the best of 
translators, the Rev. H. Gary. Mr. Collier, in his ** History of Dramatic Poetry," has given a short sample of her 
ladyship's blank rene, which is as heavy and monotonous as blank verse translation of rhjrme generally is, from pre- 
serving the pattern and cadence of the original—a fault which even Gary, in his excellent *' Dante." has not always 
avoided. Now and then you may detect the outline of the t4rrza rima. French plays should assuredly he translated 
Into couplet measure. The countess survived her husband twenty years— happy as the praises of grateful poeto could 
make her^-happy in the fair reputation, and It Is to be hoped in the duteous attendance, of her tider sOD<=-and happy 

in dying too soon to see h'v younger offqralng 

Hold a wing 

Quite from the flight of all his ancestors. 


" TIm place of his birth waa near the town of Montgomerj, and in tluit casUe that did then bear the 
name of that town and ooanty. ThAt castle was then a place of strength and state, and had been 
■ocoeanrely happy in the &mily of the Herberts, who had long possessed it, and with it a plentiful 
estate, and hearts as liberal to their poor neighbours ; a family that hath been blessed with remarkable 
wisdom, and a willingness to senre their country, and, indeed, to do good to all mankind, — for which 
they were eminent But, alas ! this family did in the late Bebellion suffer extremely in their estates, 
and the heirs of that castle saw it laid level with that earth which was too good to cover those 
wretches that were the cause of it" 

What a gentleman was Izaak, though he commenced business in a shop wherein two men had not 
room to turn themselves ! He chooses to forget entirely that the meanest, if not the worst, of those 
" wretches whom the earth was too good to cover," the very man who was appointed to convey to 
hia royal bene&ctor th&t insolent demand which went to strip him of all his prerogative, and so fieur 
provoked King Charles out of his usually guarded speech, that he answered him with, " No, Phil — 
BT QoD, — not for an hour," and who actually renounced his rank to sit in a kingless Parliament, was 
the head of the fiunily of Pembroke. This is true gentility. 

Of the childhood and boyhood of Massinger no record remains. It has been said, indeed, that he 
was brought up in the family of his fiither's patron ; but if so, how comes it that in 1624, when his 
" Bondman " was first printed, he " had never arrived at the happiness to be made known " to Philip 
of Montgomery 1 He must needs have known him as a boy, and was not likely to have forgotten the 
circumstance in his dedication. I do not^ however, recollect where Philip spent his tender years. 
He certainly was a courtier in his tsens. Could it indeed be proved that the child Massinger 
wandered in the marble halls and pictured galleries of Wilton, that princely seat of old magnificence, 
where Sir Philip Sidney composed his Arcadia; that his young eyes gazed upon those panels 
whereon the story of Mopsa and Dorcas, and Musidorus and Philoclea, were limned in antique 
tracery ; that he was dandled in his babyhood by the &ir Countess of the Arcadia, and shared the 
parting kiss of Sir Philip when he set forth for those wars from which he Was never to return, — 


with what accumulated interest should we read his dramas, several of which display an intimacy 

BO wril noowned for ehcriahing the maset* it doea not appear that ahe beatowed either botintv or countenuioe 
OB theaoQ of her biiaband*k old and faithful acnrant; ft fact which, combined with the apparent neglect of ao di«- 
tli^aiabed ft Macenaa aa her eon, makea it too probable that Massinger had offended the family bj quitting his studies ; 
possibly alighting the prefermoit to which their farour would hare conducted him. Henry, the second earl of the 
•eeood crsfttion, died in ISOl, ftnd was succeeded by his son William, who was goremor of Portsmouth and ohftncellor 
of Oxford ; aa booonr he aeems to have well deaenred, since honest Antony Wood saya of him, ** that he was not only 
a graat patronlasr of learned and ingenious men. but was himself learned, and endowed to admiration with a poetical 
pemp, aa by thoae amorous and poetioal airs and poems of his oomposition doth evidently appear, some of which had 
Botca act to them by Henry Lawes and Nich. Lanearew" It is not often that Antony smiles upon anything 
and poetical ;" he seems to have had as indifferent an opinion of poetry as Locke or Jeremy Bentham : but 
ho thought it, like hunting or hawking, a gentlemMuly recreation, in which a nobleman might be allowed to 
At tho period when Antony's opinions wcto fashioned, not only poetry, but philology In general* was con- 
aa llttlo bettor than a showy aooomplishment, a fringe of learning, that might adorn, but could not clothe or 
•aiKdi at least was tho Judgment of the universitiea ; at present the tendency Is too much the 
way. Hat Pambroko had other panegyriata than the old Jacobite antiquarian of Merton ; half Lincoln fena 
w iiplnyirt in hia praise, and Mr. Campbell supposos that he was the mysterious subject of Bhakspeare's sonnets, 
hypofbesie to whidi I can by no meana aooede. No doubt, however, he waa a patron of the drama, and pmbably 
aothor, for he waa Joined with hia brother Philip in the dedication to the folio of 16831 Aa he is nowise 
with tho known history of Masaioger. we need say no more of him than that he died in 1630, leaving no 
opoo Mr. Campbell's buppositkm, ho had been passionately exhorted not to 

« —bear hia beautlea to the grave 
And leave the world no copy." 

by hia brother Philip, already created Earl of Montgomery, from whom the titles havo descended 
to tho prcaaot time. I cannot conclude thia overgrown note without suggesting the poesibillty that among 
thofonily papers of the Herberta something might be discovered to throw light on the early history of Massinger, and 
to aoeo— t for his apparent alionatkin from a house of which he was in some sort a member. But perhaps the search 
hao airaady been made in vain. 



with the detAik of noble houMkeeping, not likelj to hare been leqoiied in the btler periods of the 
poet's ezintence ! Ii it not possible thai Sir Philip may hare been his godfiOher, and giren him hii 
namel The conjectnre is in strict accordance with the mannen of that age, and almost derires s 
pUusibilitj from the neqael of Masringer^s fortones. It is a common trick of Fate to flatter the 
infancy of those whose manhood is written in her black book. 

"At thy Urth, dear bny ! 
Nature and Fortune Joined to make thee gnat ; 
Of Nature's gifU thoa may'et with mica boan. 
And with the half blown roae : bat Portoae, oh I 
8be Is oorruptcd, dianged, and won from thee ! * 

Mimg Jckm, Act Hi. Secoe L 

Many a dawn of golden beauty harbingers a day of troabled dimness : many a one has smiled in the 
cradle on the fair, the great» the good, and the wise, whose death-bed was withont a comfort or a 

Bat enough of these Bpeculations. Jnrenile biography was little in rogue in the days of Elizabeth 
and James, (thongh the sayings and doings of some few distinguished children, as Sir Philip Sidney, 
and Henry Prince of Wales, have been fondly recorded.) It is not, therefore, to be wondered, that 
the boyish days of Massinger present a blank, upon which it were easy to write a multitude of 
prMwibiliiies. For instance, we know that there was a company of actors, calling themselves the 
Karl of Pembroke* 8 players. We know that theatrical companies were often itinersnt, and used to 
be entertained and employed at the country mansions of the nobility ; that the female parts always, 
and sometimes the whole plays, were performed by boys. It is possible enough that Massinger may 
have seen the earl's players in his boyhood ; it is possible that he may hare worn petticoats among 
thorn, as Achilles did at Scyros, and so may hare acquired an eariy hankering after the stage. 
Both biographies and histories of formidable length hsTe been constructed out of such possibilities, 
and put forth with all the confidence of eye-witness, sometimes to the subrersion of all recorded 
tOHtimony. But I dare not be thus dogmatically hypotheticaL Facts are not to be deduced firom 
|)roinises, like conclusions in mood and figure. 

Homewhore or other Massinger obtained a classical education. That his works erinoe. He was 
pnihably acquainted with the French and Italian, perhaps with the Spanish language, thai a point of 
fiialilon : but those might be the acquisitions of his riper years. He seems to hsTc read some of the 
Fathers, and to have dipped into theology and moral philosophy. But his learning is no way 
Mrliolantic or profound : it is that of a reader, rather than of a student. His clas«cal allusions are 
frequent, but not like those of Ben Jonson, recondite, nor like those of Shakspeare snd of Milton, 
amalfcamated and consubstantiated with his native thought. They float, like drops of oil on water, 
on tlio surface of his style, and have too much the air of quotations. What erudition he possessed 
lio was not shy of displaying ; no more was Shakspeare : Jonson was not a whit more of a pedant 
than his contemporaries ; he showed more reading, because he had more to show. 

Mowiinger, whoever was his schoolmaster, entered a commoner of St. Alban's Hall, Oxford, 
May 14th, 1C02. I give this date on the authority of Mr. Gifford, who says that he had the 
memorandum of his matriculation before him, wherein he is styled the son of a gentleman : " Philip 
AfftMinger Sarisburiensis, OenerasiJUitu.** Yet Antony Wood places his entrance in 1601. Davies 
fulls in his attempt to account for the discrepancy, by the change of Style. But Ant-ony was not 
writing on oath, and was not likely to take the pains of accurate reference about a man who was only 
n poet^ — a race for whom he bad as little respect as for womankind. He differs ^m Langbaine on 
a point of rather more importance. Langbaine believes that he was supported by his father, and 
that he stuck closely to his studies. Wood asserts that his exhibition was from the Eari of 
Pembroke, and " that he gave hU mind more to poetry and romance for about foicr years or more, than 
to logic (md philosophy, which he ought to have done, as he was pajtronised to iJiat end." Undoubtedly 
he ought, if he could. It would have been better for him if he had. He might have obtained a 
fellowship, and become, like Antony, a great antiquarian, though I think it more likely that he 
would ha^'e turned out a passionate puritan divine. But whatever were the cause, he quitted the 



nnirersitj abruptly, and without a degree ; whether in consequence of his father's death, (the date 
of which is uncertain,) or of the failure of remittances from other quarters, or, which is most probable, 
from impatience of academic restraint, (the more irksome, as at the time of his entrance, he consider* 
ibly exceeded the average years of an under-graduate of that time, when undergraduates were 
subject to a discipline only calculated for the Imoest/omi,) or an eagerness to follow the bent of his 
genius, and the steps of Shakspeare, Fletcher, and Jonson, no doubt, in his esteem, the greatest and 
hippiest of men. We cannot conceive, with Davies, that his lack of logic made the terroi*s of an 
examination too awful for his nerves. He has never been accused of any criminal irregularity. 
He, at least, was not a deer-stealer, nor a libeller of the landed aristocracy. Wood only charges 
him with his addiction to poetry and romance. But it is very probable his father's death bereft 
him of the heart and hope of his academical studies ; for it does not appear that he had brother or 
niter to rejoice in his success, or reprove his indiscretion. If any conception of his character may 
be formed from his plays, he had a strong and independent spirit, ill calculated to brook or rgtain 
the &Tour or surveillance of patronizing superiors. There is too much likelihood that he gave 
■ome offence to the Herberts, or he would hardly have been overlooked by so generous a friend of 
genioB as earl William. Young men, smit with the passion of liberty, too often seek it where it is 
nerer to be found, in a life without regular profession or definite controul. 

Gifford conjectures that Massinger had, " during his residence in the university, exchanged the 
leligion of his father for one at that time the object of terror, persecution, and hatred;" and 
eonclades, from the " Virgin Martyr, the Renegade, the Maid of Honour, and from casual intimations 
■eattered over his remaining dramas," that he had attached himself to the Church of Rome. This is 
Tery possible, but there is not even circumstantial evidence of the fact. His dramas, like those of 
kia contemporaries in ^neral, were mostly founded on French or Italian novels, or old legends, 
which it would have been no easy matter to convert to Protestantism, without converting them to 
irony and satire. His characters are Catholics of the old church, and he makes them speak as 
such ; they are Catholics, superstitious Catholics it may be, but neither Protestants nor Papists. He 
never brings the old and reformed churches into opposition, as had frequently been done upon the 
stage, in spite of repeated orders to the contrary. A writer, who lays his scene in a Mahometan 
eonntiy, and makes his characters Mahometans, must he, pro tempore, and dramatically, a Mahometan 
lumselfl He must speak of Mahomet as a true prophet, acknowledge the divine authenticity of the 
Koran, and use no ill language of the Houris; yet he may do all this without bringing any just 
suspicion upon his Christianity, so long as he does not bring Christian and Moslem together, for the 
purpose of throwing discredit on the former, or setting off the latter to advantage, as Voltaire has 
done in his "Zaire." Now Massinger has given no such proof of his preferring the proscribed to 
the established church. He never, that T can discover, alludes specifically to the Church of England 
at all. At any rate, his religious tendencies, whatever they might be, could have little to do with 
his quitting Oxford, a university alwaj's more Catholic than Protestant, attached to every relic of 
antique formality, as a faithful widow to the effigies of the husband of her youth, or a too confiding 
damsel to the tokens of a lover whom she would never have forsaken, if he had not forsaken her. 
Nothing but an overt act of Papery (not likely to have been unknown or unmentioned by Antony 
Wood) would have endangered Massinger on the banks of Isis. There is nothing in his knon^nn 
works from which we can even conjecture the creed of his conviction, what he did or did not believe. 
If there ever were any such data, the ** Master of the Revels " has intercepted them on their way to 
pupterity. It is impossible to say in what measure he partook of the errors and superstitions which 
had iucmsted Christianity, in the lazy lapse of ages, and which were rejected by the Divines who 
undertook to restore the Primitive Church. But if it be duly considered, that in his days, the 
vijfMe Church of England was an untrimmed vessel, lurching now towards Rome, and now towards 
Geneva, it is no wonder if many of the young, the impassioned, the imaginative, inclined towards 
that form of faith and o^ worship, which wore at least the semblance of venerable seniority, 
gave ample room for the fancy and the affections, was inextricably intertwined with the whole 
ti^.we of chivalry and romance, hallowed alike the gorgeous ceremony, the austere fast, arid the 
perUxiic day of rustic merriment/ — and " was all things to all men," holding out the honours of 


apotheosis to the ascetic, and offering an absolution to the voluptuons. Contrast with this the 
saturnine rigour of ITltraprotestantism, its utter antipathy, not only to the acted drama, but to all 
the poetry of life, manners, and nature ; consider the indefatigable and undaunted industry of tho 
propagandists of Romauism, then recommended by the prestige of peril, who so well know how 
much of their system it may be expedient to bring into relief, and what should be discreetly 
left in shadow, apprised, as by an instinct, whom and how, and when, to attack ; and the mosfe 
zealous Protestant will rather be thankful that all the young genius of Britwn was not enlisted 
under the banner of the Cross Keys, than angry at such as clung to the "decaying sanctities*' of 
olden time *. 

* Let U8 examine how far these three plays— ^ The Virgin Martyr,** •• The Renegado," and •* The Maid of Honour/ 
exhibit " innumeral'U proofs " that MassinKer was a Roman Catholic. 

Tlie ** Virgin Martyr " is the Joint work of Massinger and Decker ; and though their sereral shares in the oomposltSao 
may be discerned with proximate probability, it is not known which of them selected the story, or whether either of 
them chose it at all. It may be the rifacciamento of an older play. It may be borrowed from the work of aome foreign 
dramatist, or founded on one of the so called mysteries. I am not well enough read In martyrology to point out the 
I^rticular legend which suggested the plot ; but the tale is made up in great measure of the common-places of the 
monastic romanccb which were as often repeated, as ingeniously raried, and as indispensable, as those of the modern 
novel. The outline may be sketched as follows :— '* In the bloody thnes of Dioclesian. there lived at Ccsarea a noMe 
virgin, named Dorothea^ fair and rich, and much beloved of Antoninutt the Governor's son of Cvsarea, who, for her 
sake, rejected the proffered love of ArUmia, the Emperor's daughter. But because Dorothea was a Christian, and had 
devoted her virginity to Heaven, and Antoninus was an idolater, she would not be wooed of him, or other earthly 
suitiir. And she had a page, named Angelo, whom she found at the temple-gate. In likeness of a * sweet-faeed. godly, 
beggar boy,* asking an alms, but in truth he was an angel, come to guard her from all evil and temptation, fhnn fear 
and from pleasure, fur the exceeding favour he had to her holiness and her virginity. Now there was in Cttsarea a 
certain Theophdu*, a cruel persecutor of the Christians, who had for his servant a fiend named Harpax, b> whoae 
means he was informed of many things that of himself he could not have known, and p.articularly of the love that 
young ^n/on/nu« bore to Dorothea^ whereof he also did inform the Princess Artemia; so, by the contrivance of 
Dorothea's wicked servants, Thcophilus, with Sapritius the Governor, and the Princess, were brought to overlook where 
Antoninus was wooing Dorothea, promliAng her riches and worldly glory, and liberty to worship after her own faahluii. 
if she would consent to be hUi wife— all which she set at nought for the love of Him to whom she was betrothed in 
Heaven. Whereat the Princess, seeing that bho was lightly esteemed of him to whom she bad demeaned herself to 
solicit hift sffection, was exceeding wroth, and would have slain both Antoninus and Dorothea^hut thntshe loved him, 
and would not give to lier the martyrdom which she longed for. Howbeit. Dorothea was bereft of all her gouda, and 
shut up in prison ; and Antoninus given in charge to his father the Governor. 

'* But when it was heard that the young man had fallen sick, and would not be comforted, the Princess, who was an 
Empenir's daughter, and of a high and noble spirit, was moved with compassion ; and subiiuing her own destree, gave 
consent that if Dorothea would return and womhip the gods of her fathers, she should be wedded unto AntonimuM* 
Now, Theophilus bad two daughters that had heretofore been Christians, but, because they loved the world, and feared 
their father, and the terror of his torments, had turned back to their idols. These young damsels, Catista and OhrisUiOt 
were set on by their father to persuade Dorothea to renounce her faith and become even as they were. But Dorothea 
wrej>tlcd mightily, and overcame— having Angelo, her go«id angel, ever at her side, so that Calista and Christeta'sjodn 
forswore the gods of the heathen ; and when the time came that they should bring forth Dorothea to bow before the 
image of Jupitor, they cast the image on the ground and spat upon it. Whereupon Theophilus, at the instigation of 
HnrpaXfAevr them, and sent back Dorothea to be tortured. All this while Antoninus continued sick and beidde him- 
self . so that his father, hearing him still call out on Dorothea, not being willing that he should perish, sent for Dorothea, 
that the young man might have his will on her. But when the young man saw her, and heard her words how good they 
were, and perceived how excellent a thing is virgin chastity, his heart was changed, and he would not touch her. 80 
Sitpritius, in his rage, would have given her up to a slave; but the slave being a Briton, would do no suoh vile deed. 
Then the Governor would have sent for ten slavt>s, but he was smitten down by an unseen hand, and one side of his face 
blasted as with lightning; whereat he was the more hardened ; and he and Theophilus cMeA Dorothea witdi.and hired 
her wicked servants to torture her; but their arms were withered, so that they could not. Wherefore, because it waa 
thought they did their work slightly, they were sent unto the death, and Dorothea was doomed to he beheaded. And when 
she was brought to the place of sufToring, A ntonintis would go with her, that he might see her for the last time, and die. 
But when he heard her discourse of Heaven, and the divine Joys wheretmto she was hastening, then did he desire to go 
with her. And behold, A ntjelOt in his true shape of an angel, appeared above to Dorothea alone, and told her that he had 
been her page, the beggar-boy, whom she had cherished. Then she made request, that Antoninus, for the true love be 
had home her, might be converted and his * love changed to the love of Heaven.' And forthwith he felt a holj fire 
within, and was changed, and became a Christian. And because Theophilus, mocking, had derired to taatn the fruit o 


W^hftterer might be Massinger's tenets, his works are strongly tinctured with religious feeling. 
He had manifestly read and thought much on religious subjects, and sometimes ventures upon 
topioii^ which might be deemed fitter for the pulpit than the stage. Gifford has highly and justly 
commended his reverence for holy things, and his abstinence from jocular allusions to Scripture. 

FvadJM. ei which sh* had Bpoken, she prayed that some of that fruit iright bo given to him after she was dead. And 
■ha howed h«r neck to the aze^ and Antoninus fell dead at ber feet. And they were both carried by Angela to 
Now, U came to pass, that The^tphilus was sitting alone, devising new tortures for the Christians ; and 
Mddenly there was a great light, and a sound of heavenly mutfic, and a fair faced boy, which was Anpelo, entered with 
a basket of fruit and flowers, the liko whereof never grew on earth. And when he tasted the fruit, and found how good 
it was, and he thought how that it was deep winter, and found that the doors were closed, so that no mortal thing 
oould oome is, he remembered the words of Dorothea, and believed. And when Harpax, the fiend, in his own likeness, 
and tempted him, he held up a cross made of the flowers of Paradise, and the flend fled howling ; and the angel 
and strengthened him. So he gave his signet that all the Christians should be set at liberty, and conveyed away 
out of tbahand of the persecutor. But when the Emperor found that Theophilut had become a Christian, he was 
hardened more and more, and put him to strange torments ; Harpax abso assaulting him. Then did Dorothea appear 
«■ h%fa, in exceeding glory, with Antoninus, Calista, and Chritteta, in white garments and Angelo, after all, holding 
forth tiM crown of martyrdom. So Theophilus, the persecutor, died a martyr ; but the Emperor was hardened still.** 

I eanaoi preinad, in this succinct narration, to have rivalled Charles Lamb and his excellent sister in the art of 
tuminf dnmn into narrative. The ** Shakvpeare Tales " is an unique book, the beauty of which all can perceive who 
are worth plensing; but few, who have not tried the like, can appreciate the difficulty, the matchle&s skill of its 
exeentioiu Neither am I fully satisfied with my Imitation of the antique legendary style. But something like this. I 
epiae, mif ht have been the story on which Massinger and Decker founded the." Virgin Martyr." It is monastic enough 
in taato and feeling, but has nothing peculiarly pophih, or even Romish ; nothing that might not have been believed, in 
what are accounted the orthodox authoritative ages ; little that contravenes the positive creed of the strictest Church- 
e#- England man. The poesible sppearance of good and of evil spirits, guardian angels, and devils in masquerade, is no 
diatinguiahinc tenet of the church of Rqroe. The extraordinary worship of virginity, the amorous piety, the yearning, 
Hm paasionate seeking after martyrdom, not as a duty, but as a merit and an especial mark of favour, originated long 
WCoru ** thm supremacy of crafty Rome^** and survived, in a considerable portion of the church, long after the separation. 
They are (to use a word of my revered father's coining,) rather patristic than popish : those who objected to the com- 
pulsory celibacy of the clergy, and disapproved of the monastic constitution, yet held celibacy " a more excellent way." 
Queen Elizabeth disapproved of married bishops. Jeremy Taylor, himself twice married, is large in praiite of single 
life, aa a state vowed and devoted to God. And Donne, so passionate a lover of his wife, in speaking of the Saviour's 
immaculate conception, calls it " a singular testimony how acceptable to God that state of virginity is ; " adding, *' He 
doe* not dishonour physic that praises health ; nor does he dishonour marriage that praisoi virginity." It should be 
remembered, however, that Donne had been a Roman Catholic, and change of communion by no means necessarily 
works a change in taste, sentiment, or feeling. But, on this head, it is impobsible to go further than Tertullian, 
Ambmee. and Jerome, (who asserts that the pagan sibyls received the gift of divination in pramium virginitatis). 
Now It would be as absurd to call them papists as protestants. As for the miracuIoiH events of the " Virgin Martyr," 
vicnenf our soundest Divines allude to legends quite as niarvcllous, and no better authenticated, with apparent faith. 
Jcrcfny TayU*r talks of the eleven thousand virgins as if he believed every word about them. The roarvellous efficacy 
^rribcd to the cruciform figure is the nearest approach to popery in the ** Virgin Martyr.'* Pcr^ns who read the play 
ttrvMjT* for the first time, will be amazed and horrified at the unutterable beastlincbs which Decker has daubed upon 
thie picture of virgin sanctity. The exhibition of racks, scourging, and beheading, with the poor appliances of 
MnasiniEer's stage, must have been more ridiculous than terrible ; but the superhuman atrocity, obduracy, and blasphemy 
of the persecutors, of the Princess Artemia herself, one might think would make an atheist shudder. Yet, I doubt not. 
tliey drew down thunders of applause, and contributed mainly to the great and continued popularity of the piece 
while the lovely strains of piety, the sweet imaginations realising wildest fancy, which the better genius, the still 
rrvisfting Angelo of the authors, charmed from their hours of quiet, passed off aa heavily as pure poetry generally does 
in mtr overgrown theatres. 

I have dwrit the longer on the " Virgin Martyr," not because it is a fair sample of Massinger ; for though the opening 
of Diodesian and the captive kings (borrowed freely from Tacitus and Caractacus,) have much dignity, his 
of the jrfay is not in general above ^ood middling, (to use the language of the trade quotations) ; but because it is 
the most remarkable exemplification of the taste of our play-going ancestors with which I am acquainted, and should 
he carefully perused by all people who exclaim against the degenerate taste of the moderns. 

The ** Reoegado" must be despatched more briefly. Perhaps, the success of the conversion scene, in the '* Virgin," 

tedaoed Maasinger, who, unlike Shakspeare, was apt to repeat himself, to try the effect of another. I shall not foretiuiK 

eke render's curiosity by an abetract of the plot, which is amatingly complicated, nobly careless of the posKiblo, hut Vfl 

■» vivid, so full of action, and so strongly drawn, that, with all its absurdities, it never perplexes, or leaves you in douhr 

e 2 


Bui I doubt whether the Bimple perversion of words found in the Bible to a ladicroiu eenae^ 
however offensive to taste and decorum, would so much shock a modem hearer^ as solemn appeals 
to Heaven, and discourses on the most awful mysteries, uttered by a painted player, or a boy 
in petticoats, upon a stage but just vacated by a buffoon or ribald rake. This incongruous mixtore^ 

where the acton are or what they are about. But this lucidnesa of buainese, this clearly defined prooearioo of Inoidenta* 
is a common merit of all our elder dramatiiits, strongly contrasted with the confusion, perplexity, and inoonaeqaeDoe^ 
occasionally to be found in the narrative poems and tales of the latter days. To our present pnrpoee: it is decidedly 
Italian, and decidedly popish. There is a noble maiden abducted by a renegado pirate from Yenioe to Tunis, and sold, 
to Asambeg, the viceroy, whose attempts upon her chastity are frustrated by the virtue of a relic which she alw^w 
carries about her. — Her brother, ViUlU, who comes to seek her in the disgruise of a merchant, aets op a shop in tbo 
bazaar, and puflTs off his wares in a very English fashion. — His servant, Gaxet. the clown, (rather more entertaininf 
than the generality of Maasinger's low characters) — The renegado, Orimaldi^ a Venetian profligate, who haa suUdied 
the host out of the priest's hand at the moment of consecration : turned corsair in the Viceroy's service ; buUiea and 
blasphemes in the first act, falls into disgrace with the Viceroy, is stripped of all hi^ plunder, sinks into deqiatr, 
consigns himself to eternal perdition rather too learnedly, is converted by a Jesuit, (the same from whom he tore the 
consecrated element) by a pious fraud : becomes, after his melancholy, '* a good and honest man," and finally aids the 
escape of the Christian captives ; an instance of reformation unparalleled till the days of Count Fathom. Hardy Yanz 
turning preacher in Australia is nothing to it— Pother Francisco, the Jesuit, whose power of oonversloa la nothing 
short of miraculous. Massinger must have been a bold man, or confident of protection in some quarter, to repreaent in 
such fair colours, (for the character is beautiful in the detail) an order abhorred and dreaded like witdicralt»-> 
jtsambfg, the tyrant lover of Paulina, (not quite so bad as seal could wish a Turk to be). The Princesi i)<mtf«a— nieoe 
to Sultan Amurath , who falls in love with ViUUi at the Basaar— has him smuggled into her palaee, whereb at Unt, he 
is desperately afraid, then desperately virtuous^— rather too innocoit indeed for a full-grown Yenetian^bnt, in tbn 
course of some twenty lines, all that a woman of Donuta't stamp could wish. A short conversation with Francisco 
convinces him of the enormity of the sin in which he was glorying; and when he is introduced a second time to his 
ex|>ectant mistress, he sets forth the horrors of her crime, and the depth of her degradation, with a fervoor of indignant 
eloquence in which Massinger, always greatest when most moral, almost exceeds himself. Still it is not language that 
a youth could or should use to a woman in whose fall he had been participant. Like a hundred similar paasafea In the 
old plays, and old sermons too, it proves the co-existence of the austerest theoretical chastity, with a total absence of 
that sensitive modesty, that instinctive shrinking from ** every appearance of evil," which we suppose at onoe the sign 
and amulet of purity. This is very popish, and very patristic, and very puritanical ; an Inevitable consequence of 
auricular confession, that worst of popish abuses, and hardly less Incident to the self-examination and comparing qf 
experiences recommended by certain sectaries. r»w0li #iJtvri» doea not always descend from Heaven. We may be too 
well acquainted with ourselves. But to return. VitellCs lecture is cut short by the entrance of the Capiaga, Ago, and 
Janizaries, shortly followed by Asambeg and Mustapka, Basha of Aleppo, the princess* suitor, (who haa diaoowed her 
incontinence from one of her waiting-women,) and, in company with the Viceroy, has been lying perdn, to ol»tain 
evidence of the fact. Vitelli, of course, is carried off to prison, and Donusa committed to custody, to await the saltan's 
sentence. That sentence is death, reprievable on condition that she convert her paramour to Islalm, and marry him. 
This she Joyfully consents to, notwithstanding the contemptuous rebukes of Mustapha and Asambeg, whom she haa been 
lecturing very unanswerably on their enormous indulgence of the vice, one single case of which condemns a woman 
beyond earthly redemption. She is introduced into the prison. A scene of oontroverqr follows. Don%ua sets forth, la 
admirable language, the hard yoke of Christianity, and the boundless licence of MahometIsm ; and oondudea with an 
argument taken in part from BCinucina Felix, (as Oifford informs me) which Pagans have need against Chrlatiaaa, 
Romanists against Protestants, which Mussulmen might have used as plausibly against both, however ita force be abated 
in the present condition of the Turkish and most other Mahometan empirea. 

Be wise, and weigh 
The proftperons success of things; if blessings 
Are donatives tnm Heaven, (which, you must gnait» * 
Were blasphemy to question,) and that 
They are call'd doiK*n and pour'd on such as be 
Most gracious with the great disposer of than. 
Look on our flourishing empire, if the splendour 
The majesty and glory of it dim not 
Your feeble sight, and then turn back and see 
The narrow bounds of yours, yet that poor rannant 
Rent in as many factions and opinions 
As yon have petty kingdome. 

X have heard Protestants reason in the same way, not distinguishing between what makes a natfon great, and wait 



1 from the old miracle-plajs and moralities, is far more frequent in Massinger than could be 
L Even were his scenes entirely purged of their licence and scurrility, there would still 
I an insuperable objection to prayers not meant to be prayed, but acted ; and preaching, 
howerer serious or tragic, could hardly be in earnest Some people complain of the want of 

% ptopXe bftppy. But let that peas. Vitetli replies in a fashion I ahould hardly recommend a mlMionary to 
Wtthoat answering any of Donusa's arguments, or advancing one in favour of Christianity, without even 
Ing what Christianity is, he falls to abusing, first the lady, and then Mahomet, of whose doctrines it would 6eem 
tasinger knew nothing, but the veracious story of the pigeon. He makes Vitelli accuse Donuta of bringing her 
lag prophet'* In comparison with 

That most nnaocountable and infinite Essoioe 
That made us all and comprehends his work. 

mmsa had done no such tiling, and If she had, she would have been a heretic to her own creed, which is most 
unitarian, or rather monotheistic, and lays to the charge of Christianity the giving to the All One a son and an 
Uowwer. VUeUi prevails by a queatfcm. which, well pronounced, might have its weight on the stage. 

Can there be strength in that 

Iteligi(m that suffers us to tremble 

At that which every day, nay hour, we haste to? 

rrpUfli, *■ This is ananswerable," and so it would be, if none but Christians dared to die, or If no Christian 
leath. Bat Is not this a singular conversion, sudden as ever took place at a revival or camp meeting, and eflTected 
t aUoaion to any single doctrine, name, or duty, but what Christians and Moslem hold in common reverence ? 
t bat suspect that the Master of the Revels, who always seems to have done his work by halves, as piddlingly 
Sditw of the •• Family DramaUsu," has been meddling here. Perhaps what he expunged would have placed the 
1 of MaaBfaiger*s religion out of all doubt. It may be remarked that Dorothea advances nothing in proof of her 
th, except obloquy against Jupiter, Yenus, &c. But now we coipe upon ticklish ground indeed. Donusa^ pro- 
herself Christian, and therefore ready to die with Vitelli, must be baptized. Francisco, for some unexplained 
eannot have aoceaa. Vitelli asks him, whether, as a lawman , he may lawfully perform that oifice. 

Francisco. A question in itself with much ease answered. 
Mid wives upon necessity perform it ; 
And knights that in the Holy Land fought for 
The freedom of Jerusalem, when full 
Of sweat and enemies' blood, have made their helmets 
The fount out of which with their holy hands 
They drew that heavenly liquor ; 'twas approved then 
By the holy Church, nor must I think it now 
In you a work less pious. 

ococs farther, the baptism is actually performed on the stage ; at least, if simple aspersion suffice for that 
»t, for no form of words is employed. Perhaps the actor was directed to supply the omission by soma 
ict mattering. Massinger plainly asserts baptismal regeneration— 

Tlie clearness of this is a perfect sign 
Of innocence : and as this washes off 
Stains and pollutions from the things we wear, 
Thrown thus upon the forehead, it hath power 
To purge those spots that cleave upon the mind, 
If thankfully received. 

« ♦ ♦ ♦ 

Donusa. I am another woman ;— till this minute 

I never lived, nor durst think how to die. 
How long have I been blind ! yet en the sudden. 
By this blest means, I feel the films of error 
Ta'en from my soiil's eyes. 

not think this oan be orthodox Catholicism, either at Rome or anywhere else; but that it should have been 
«d 081 an English stage, when the stage itself was so sore a stumbling.block to the most popular party, and 
he tooling matter of relif^on or state was so strictly and repeatedly forbidden, is one of the strangest facts in 
:io history. Surely Sir H^iry Dprbert must have been weary with hiH expurgations, and fallen asleep over the 
rbe validity of lay-baptism— a disputed point among Protestants— is allowed by the Church of Kome in extreme 
a Ruriona exception to her gencntf system of hierarchy. But what a question to moot in a theatre ! I conjecture 


religion in plays ; I complain of its superabundance. In {lalliation, however, of what cannot be 
justified, let it be remembered, that our ancestors, both before, and for some time after our seeesaon 
from the Roman church, were upon much more familiar terms with their religion than we are wont to 
be with ours. It was not " of their lives a thing apart,** the employment of a sabbath, of a morning and 
evening hour, demanding a remotion from all but itself : it mingled with everything, their labours^ 
their bargains, their courtship, their daily business, and evening leisure, and was not frowned away 
(like the Chaplain, of the Spectator s day, at the drawing of the cloth) from their mummings, and 
Whitsun ales. Every period of relaxation was a feast of the church, and those who abolished the 
religious ceremonies, were not always able to abolish the eating, drinking, and merry-making.* 
Whether the change be for the better, this is no place to discuss ; but I assure such pious persons 

that it was much agitated about the time when the ** Roiegado" was first produced (early in 1634) ; that aoma of 
Massin^er's patrons were deeply int^reHted in it; and that the theatres were chiefly patronised by Romanists and 
semi-Romanists. In fine, the ** Renegndo " is a monkish story, dramatised with the faith of the imagination ; wbetbct 
with the faith of the heart. I leave for tlio reader's decision. 

The " Maid of Uunuur,** though the scene l>c partly laid in Sicily— which was, indeed, long a Spanish dependency— 
looks likcr a Spanish than an Italisui story. It were well worth the while of a gentleman litterateur, who had leisure 
to search out, and wealth to purchase, literary rarities, to examine the numerous collections of French, Spanish, and 
Italian fictions, and lialf-fictitious hUturies, for the sources of Massinger's plots. But Gifford suppoaee that miuiy of 
the loose pamphlets, to which the dramatists were more immediately indebted, lying heaps upon heaps in the Taults 
below St. Paul's, perished in the fire of London— a manifest Judgment, as some will aay, for such abase of consecrated 
excarations : not worse, however, than making a Bond-street of Paul's Walk, as was usual with Our anccet o ra, and 
not much worse than making the holy edifice itself an expensive show. From whatever quarter derived, the ** Maid of 
Honour** Is, in its c(»noeption, chivalric, though injudiciously overlaid, in the first acts, with English politiob Ite 
religion is the religion of knighthood and la belle tcienee^ not of the cloister nor the YAtican. Except that the heroine 
turns nun, it furnishes no proof of Massinger's recusancy. One fine passage, indeed, proves, if anything, that he 
was not a papist :— 

Camiola. Religion bars our entrance ; you are, sir, 
A Knight of Malta, by your order bound 
To a single life ; you cannot marry me : 
And I asNure myself, you are too noble 
To geek me. though my frailty should consent, 
In a baKO path. 

Bettohlo. A dispensation, lady. 
Will easily ab^lve me 

C'tmiola. O, take lieed, sir- 
When what is vow'd to Heaven is dispensed with, 
To serve our private ends, a curse must fullow. 
And not a blessing. jict L Scent S. 

Now here Is a plain denial of the Pope's prerogative. Dispensations were among the moat proiltable ways and mean* 
of the Roman court Queen Henrietta herself, not waiting for a dispensation for her marriage with a heretic prince, 
was doomed by the priehte to rigorous i>enance. and was even compelled to walk barefoot to Tyburn ; « where, nnder 
the gallows where m many Jesuits had been executed as traitors to Eliaaboth and James, slie knelt and prayed to 
them as martyrs and saints, who had shed their blood in defence of the Catholic cause." Mr. D* Israeli, to whom I 
owe my acquaintance with this and many other almost incredible anecdotes, says there is a very rare print whidi 
has commemorated the circumstance. Curiotitiet, 297. But is the rare print the sole authority for the fact f 
A most extraordinary secret history of the late English reigns might be compiled out of the rare printa of GUny, 
Rowlandson, Cruikshank, &c. 

But It is high time to conclude this long inquiry, from which, after all, nothing can be concluded, bat that 
Massinger had no abhorrence of the ceremonies, institutions, or devotional aflVctfona, of the unreformed church. 
He probably went as near Rome as his reason would permit him ; but there is no proof that he ever renounced the 
English communion : and I am confident that he was no Papitt, no prieat-ridden slave— never believed that any 
priest or bishop could reverse the immutable laws of right or wrong— dispense with the dntieaof children andparant% 
husbands and wives, subjccto and rulera— Insert or blot a name in the book of life. Bopentitlous he might be; 
most men of genius are so in some way or other: but the snpcntitlons of genius are barmlesa to men of genius^ 
however pernicious when congealed to dogmata by the sunless atmosphere of vulgar aoala. Fanatic or bigot, 
Massinger was not. 



Uf nnacqiiainted with our ancient manners, imagine a superior sanctity, a more awful regard 
of holy times, and things, and words, in the days tliat are gone, that it is even as I have stated it. 
I mention it merely to account for an apparent inconsistency in Massinger. 

Masainger must hare quitted Oxford about 1 G06. Antony Wood says, that " being sufficiently 
fiuned for scTenU specimens of wit, he betook himself to writing plays." None of these early famed 
tpedmena qf wit are extant ; nor is the precise period of his commencing dramatist ascertained. 
There is, indeed, a passage in the " Old Law," a play in which he is supposed to have had a share, 
which might seem to cany back the date of his authorship to 1599, when he was only in his 15th 
year. The " Law," on which the play turns, enacted that all men in the dominions of Epire, " living 
to the age of fourscore, and women to the age of threescore, shall the same day be instantly put to 
de^h ; ** and the interest depends on the eagerness of bad eons to be rid of their fathers, bad wives 
of their aged husbands, and tired husbands of their old wiver, contrasted with the earnest cndcayours 
and pious straU^ms of the good son Cleanthcs to preserve his superannuated sire. Gnotho, the 
down, naturally curious concerning the years of his Agatha, desires the clerk to consult the register, 
who reads as follows: — "Agatha, the daughter of Pollux, bom 1540, and now 'tis 1599." Now I 
think there can be no doubt, that this was the actual year in which the play was first performed. 
Tbere could be no other reason for so monstrous an anachronism. But though the plot is tragi- 
fisrcical enough to hare been invented by a boy of fifteen, it is utterly improbable that Massinger was 
conoemed in it so early. If his name is correctly prefixed, it must have been for additions and 
alterations made at some subsequent period, according to the common practice of that age. Payments 
for additional scenes, reformations, &c. are common in the old theatrical accounts. Thus Bon Jonson 
receired of Henslow forty shillings for vrriting his additions to Jeronijmo, 25th September, 1601 ; 
and the 22d June, 1602, lOL " in earnest of a book called ' Kichard Crookback,' and for new additions 
to Jcnmymo." In the office-book of Sir Henry Herbert, Mr. Giflbrd found this item : — " Received 
for tho adding a new scene to the * Virgin Martyr/ this 7th July, 1624, 10*." Shakspeare, doubtless, 
was often employed to make such reformations upon older plays, as we know was the case with the 
" Comedy of Errors," " Taming the Shrew," and the 2d and 8d parts of " Henry VI." In the " Old 
Law • there are some scenes so vastly superior to the rest, that one could hardly wish them to be the 
work of the same brain. I would fain suppose them to be Massinger 's ; but Charles Lamb (who is 
but a cold admirer of our author) hath judged otherwise. " There is," says he, " an exquisitcuess of 
moral sensibility, making one to gush out tears of delight, and a poetical strangeness in all the 
improbable circumstances of this wild play, which are unlike anything in the dramas which Massingei 
wrote alone. Middleton and Kowlcy, who assisted in this play, had both of them finer geniuses 
than their associate." Those who read Lamb's selections only (not that they are the only beauties) 
will probably agree with his decision. They will not improve their relish by reading the piece 
throughout The characters of Eugenia, the would-be widow, and Lysandcr, her dotard husband, 
who attempts to give his years the lie by capering, drinking down a company of young springaldft, 
kc are pitiably disgusting. Mr. Lamb should have informed the readers of his sjjecimens that the 
"Old Law** is alia trick of the Duke to try the temper of his young subjects, and that the old folks, 
supposed dead, are produced alive and well, in the 5th act. The play was not printed till 1656, 
eridently by some distressed actor for a temporary supply. I am inclined to think that the name 
of Massinger was added to those of Middleton and Rowley without any authority. 

For some years after his departure from Oxford, we hear nothing of Massinger at all. We cannot 
tell whether he went immediately to London, and applied to the theatres for employment, or tried 
and abandoned any other pursuit, or dwindled away some small patrimony in attendance on fortune 
and the great. But it is most likely, that repairing to the metropolis, an aimless adventurer, he fell 
in with some of the numerous players and play-writers with whom the town was swarming, some of 
whom might be old school or college associates, and between ambition and desperation, became a 
member of the fraternity. Play-writing was then the only species of literature, certainly the only species 
of poetry, by which ready money could be raised. Though not held in Athenian estimation, the 
drama was popular, fashionable, and highly patronised. King Jjunes was among its most distin. 
fnished protectors ; at the very commencement of his reign he had licensed the company, heretofore 


called the Lord Chamberlain's, whereof Shakfipeare, Burbage, Hemming, Condell, Armyn, &A.* 
were members, to take upon themselves the title of " the King's ServanU ** (all actors, be it obserred, 
were supposed to be servants either of the court or of the nobility). The Queen adopted the Earl of 
Worcester's players, and Prince Henry's name was bestowed on those of the Earl of Nottingham. 
Plays, as well as masques, were performed at court, and in great houses, on the principal festivals, 
weddings, and other days of high ceremony. Honourable gratuities had been given both to authon 
and actors. Many of the brightest of the time shone in both qualities. The stage was evoking and 
realizing the finest imaginations of the strongest intellects. It promised immediate profit, immediate 
applause, and a place among honoured names hereafter. 

Massinger arrived in London at an exciting time. The visit of the King of Denmark to his angnst 
brother filled court and city with triumphs, masques, and revellings. No doubt the drama, decked 
out with a splendour alien to its usual habiU, contributed to entertain the monarch stranger. It is 
said, that " Macbeth " was then first performed, and that King James wrote to Shakspeare a letter 
of compliment and commendation. I cannot tell what effect these incidents, if true, might have in 
determining Massinger's course ; but dimmer omens of success have ofttimes given the casting 
weight to inclination. 

Massinger seems to have been of a shy, reserved, and somewhat melancholy nature. Nothing in 
his writings betokens the exuberant life and dancing blood of Shakspeare and Fletcher. This 
defect of animal spirits, perhaps, prevented him from following the example set by Peele, Marlow, 
Middleton, Rowley, Decker, Heywood, and Shakspeare himself, of uniting the functions of actor and 
author. This was probably a prudent course for prudent men. It secured a pittance not quite so 
precarious as the scanty remuneration of the dramatists. Instances were not rare of actors retiring 
in good circumstances. Dulwich college remains to testify the successful industry of Edward Allcyn, 
who, to his engagements of actor, author, and manager, added the important office of " Master of 
the Bears and Dogs *." It is possible that Massinger had tried the stage and failed, as Ben Jonson 
had done before, and as Otway did afterwards ; but we know nothing of his progress from 1606 till 
sometime between 1612 and 1614, when the melancholy document already alluded to, exhibits him 
as engaged with Field and Dabome in the construction of a drama — name unknown. It was 
discovered by Malone at Dulwich College, and seems to be without date ; but Mr. Payne Collier 
judges it not later than 1614 — eight years previous to the first edition of the " Virgin Martyr," the 
earliest published play bearing Massinger's name. It is as follows : — 

* ThiH office must necils have been accounted honourable ; for in 16<i0 it was bold by a knight. Sir Janice Darrington. 
It could hardly hare been esteemed profane or Immoral (except by the rigid puritans wbo condemned all exhibitiona 
as hentheniiih vanities) ; for Allcyn id designated by it in the letters patent for the foundation of Dulwich College^ 
16-20. It could not be vulgar ; for bear-baiting wan among *• the princely pleasures of Kcnilworth," provided for the 
enterta<nmt>nt of a Virgia Queen. Nor could the penny- wisest economist complain that it was over-paid; fcr the 
regular salnry, excluhive of fees and perquisites, was but a farthing a day. As for the inhumanity of the busincat, 
that WHS little dreamed of; for in all the invectives and petitions launched against the sport by the city, and the 
pulpit, and the puritans, the torture of the animals is hardly alluded to. The only person who seemed to care for 
poor Bruin was his keeper. In Lysons's ** Environs of London ** is a curious complaint of Alleyn concerning the hard 
and unsportsmanlike usage which his sliaggy charges had sustained, when lent out on some public ocoiaioo. There 
were Wyndhams in those day& Among the cliarges so perseveringly alleged against the theatres, one was that they 
Beduc<ki the people fmm bear-baiting and other manly recreations. Allubions to this amusement are so oonmumin 
Shakspeare, that it is no breach of charity to suppose that he was an occasional viidtor at ** Military garden Paris.** 
Slender could commend his valour to sweet Ann Page by no stronger instance than this : " I have seen Sackeraon 
loose twenty times, and taken him by the chain." Why, Othello could not brag more amorously. It would be aa 
nttcrly unjust to suppose that our bear-baiting ancestors resembled the blackleg ruflians of the modem fancy, as that 
the Olympic victors celebrated by Pindar were like modem prize-fighters, pigeon -shooters, and riders against time. 
Their amusement might be a rough relic of the hunter state, but it was not mercenary, base, and fraudulent. The 
Tile spirit of gambling, which produces more cruelty than antique rudeness shall ever have to answer for, haa degraded 
all the athletic exercises of England. 

Butler is the Pindar of the bear- wards. There is more humour, aa distinguished from wit, aad more graphic power 
In his ** Bear-Bait," tlian in any other part of lludibras. 

Some curious particulars concerning this ancient sport may be found In Hone's *• Tablc-Book ; ** an amnaing repoci 
tory of antiiuities, and modem oddities that will ho antiquities in the twentieth century. 


** To our most loving Mend, Mr. Philip Hinchlow, esquire, These^ 
" Mr. Hinchloir, 

** Ton understand our unfortunate extremitie, and I doe not thincke you so void of 
cristianiUe but that you would throw so much money into the Thames as wee request now of you, 
rather than endanger so many innocent lives. You know there is xl, more at least to be receaved 
of Tou for the play. We desire you to lend us W. of that ; which shall be allowed to you, without 
whleh we cannot be bay led, nor / play any more till this be dispatch'd. It will lose you xx^. ere 
the end of the next weeke, besides the hinderance of the next new play. Pray, sir, consider our 
eases with humanity, and now give us cause to acknowledge you our true friend in time of neede. 
Wee have entreated Mr. Davison to deliver this note, as well to witness your love as our promises, • 
and alwayes acknowledgement to be ever, 

" Tour most thanckfull and loving friend, 

"Nat. Field." 

" The money shall be abated out of the money remayns for the play of Mr. Fletcher and ours. 

Rob. Dabobne." 
" I have ever found you a true loving friend to mee, and in soe small a suite, it beeinge honest, I 
hope you will not fail na. Philip MASSiNasB." 

Indorsed : 
" Received by mee Robert Davison of Mr. Hinchlow for the use of Mr. Daboeme, Mr. Feeld, 
Mr. Messenger, the sum of yL Rob. Davison." 

This tripartite supplication requires a few remarks and commentaries. Philip Hinchlow, or 
Henj&lowe, whose account-book has thrown so much dubious light on our early theatrical history, 
Uiongh extensively engaged in theatrical speculation, was no regular scion of the play-house, but 
" seema originally to have been a sort of pawnbroker who advanced money upon various kinds pf 
property, but especially wearing apparel. The players often pledged their dresses with him, and 
afterwards hired them when they were wanted ; this probably was the commencement of Henslowe'S 
connexion with plays and theatres. Various companies, in this manner, might become his debtors, 
and he ultimately possessed a large share of the wardrobe and properties of the play-houses in which 
he was concerned. In 1591 he either extensively repaired or built the Rose on the Bankside, and, 
on the 8th of February in that year, he began to register his receipts \" A comfortable kind of 
person for three poets to be obliged to, when, it is to be feared, they had nothing but the forestalled 
labour of their brains to pledge ; and were, too probably, in the catchpole's custody, if not actually 
in Limbo I Whether Christianity, or the loss of the 20^ suggested by Field, had most effect in 
moving the old pawnbroker's bowels, I leave to the reader's charitable judgment. The name of 
Nathaniel Field, who was Massinger's partner in the " Fatal Dowry," and author of two comedies — 
" Woman's a Weathercock," from which Lamb has given extracts, printed 1612 ; and "Amends for 
Fair Ladies," 1618 ; but both written and acted before 1611 — appears in the list of sharers in the 
Globe and Blackfriars, along with Burbage, (the original Richard III., Hamlet, and Othello,) Lowin, 
(the original Falstaff,) and others of histrionic note, in a patent under the great seal, dated the 27th 
March 1619 — 20. He performed as one of the "Children of the Queen's Chapel" in Jonson's 
"Cynthia's Revels," 1600— in his "Poetaster," 1601— and as a child of "the Queen's Revels" in 
" EpiccBne," 1609 — ^in which latter year he is mentioned with Shakspeare, Dabome, and Kirkham in 

• Hiatory of Drmmatlc Poetry, roL iU. 85. By several paasages in the same work, we find that Henslowe's extortion 
wae a frequent subject of oomplalnt with the playen. But players are apt to be exorbitant as well as pawnbrokers. 
There Is no cominf at the rights of the matter now. Philip was far from a learned clerk ; not that his orthography, 
or rather beterography, is any decisive test of his attainments; for men of classical education at that time spelt as 
sfftnacely as any lore-sick oook-maid, ere the schoolmaster was abroad. His diary, we are told, has been wickedly 
■BOtiUted by thierish autograph hunters, who think themselves richer by filching an author's good or ugly namsb 
It anppliea a great deal of information respecting the payment of authors and actors, and the properties of the play- 
booaes; which though in some respects far let«s various and appropriate than those exhibited in Ungarth's Bam, 

were exclaimed agsinaC by many, aa tending by their mimic gorgeonsnese to bring the splendour of the crown itaell 

into ocmtcmpt. 



a curious document brought to light by the indefatigable Collier, and g^ren in his " New Facta. 
It authorises " the said Rol>ert Dabome, William Shakspeare, Nath. Field, and Edward Kirkham, 
ftom time to time, to provide and bring upp a convenient nomber of children, and them to instruct and 
exercise in the quality of playing tragedies, comedies, &c., by the name of Children of the Eterella to 
the Queene, within the Black fryers in our citie of London, or elsewhere within our realme of England." 
It would seem that Shakspeare soon drew out of the concern. He had formerly spoken with some- 
thing like ridicule of these juvenile actors, who were thus enlisted, or rather impressed, into the 
service of Melpomene and Thalia, though with his usual discretion he muzzles the point of his cen- 
sure, by intrusting it to that very civil, simple, good-sort of a gentleman, Rotencrantz : — " But there 
is, sir, an aviary of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyran- 
nically clapp'd for 't. These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages (so they call 
them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose quills, and scarce dare come thither." But 
Hamlets question in reply, is hardly fieur. "What! are they children] Who maintains them! 
Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing t " Now, as to their maintenance, the 
children of the Queen's Chapel and the children of Paul's were probably better secured in that respect 
than their elders of the quality ; and good provision was made for them when they could no longer 
sing. As early as the reign of Edward lY. it was appointed "Also when they " (the children of the 
Chapel) " be growen to the age of eighteen ycres, and then thcire voyces be chaunged, and they 
cannot be preferred in this chappell, nor within this court, the number being full, then yf they will 
absent^ the king signeth onely such child to a colledge of Oxford or Cambridge of the king's foundation, 
there to be in findeing and study sufficiently till the king otherwise list to advance him." And 
James I., in the first year of his reign, ordained that " after serving three years, if they lose their 
voices they shall be sent to coll^^ to be taught at the king's charge." Yet many good people, who 
are scandalized at the Latin plays of Westminster, will be surprised that in the pious days of England; 
in the glorious morning of the Beformation ; in " great Eliza's golden time ; " under Kings and 
Queens, that were the nursing-fathers and nursing-mothers of the Church — the public acting of plays 
should be, not the permitted recreation, but the compulsory employment of children devoted to 
sing the praises of God,— of plays, too, the best of which children may now only read in a " £unily " 
edition, — of some, whose very titles a modem father would scruple to pronounce before a woman or 
a child *. 

Richard III., who appointed the first public bearwarden, was also the first who exercised the pre- 
rogative of impressing singing men and children, " even from cathedrals, colleges, chapels, and houses 
of religion," for the royal service. But a usurper may afford a precedent to the most legitimate 
sovereign ; and accordingly we find that, in 1586, Queen Elizabeth "issued a warrant under her sign 
manual, authorising Thomas Gyles, master of the children of Paulas, to take up any boys in 

* Among the ptays claimed by William Beeston, as <* Master of the King and Queen's jomig company of players, at 
the Cockpit in Drury-lane," were Ford's " Tis Pity She's a Whore ; " his only less offensive * Love's Sacrifice,* and 
**A Fool and her Maidenhead soon parted ; " a play of which I never heard elsewhere. This was in 16:^ Three yean 
afterwards the theatres were closed by authority of Parliament. I really think that it was almost time. Can it be 
wondered that old Prynne thought an attack upon plays a convenient vehicle for censure of a Ck>urt. which licensed 
iuch Juvenile prostitution ? 

What nuule the abomination still worse was, that these poor children were purposely selected to ntter the giOMusl 
licentiousness and personality— as Iley wood was constrained to confess in his Apology for Actors : - Now to ep—k of 
some abuse lately crept into the quality, as an inveighing against the state, the court, the law, the city, and their 
governments, with the particularising of private men's humours, yet alive, noblemen and others, I know that it 
distastes many ; neither do I by any means approve it, nor dare by any means excuse the liberty which some arrogate 
to themselves, eommittitig their bitterness and liberal invectives against all estates to the months qf children, supposing 
their juniority to be a privilege for any railing, be it never so violent I could advise all such to curb and limit this 
presumed Uberiy within the bounds of discretion and good government* 

It should be mentioned that the acting of plays by the children of the Chapel Royal was forbidden, when a new 
warrant of impresnment was issued to Nathaniel Giles, Mua. Doc., August 1626. Beeeton's boys, therefore, needed not 
loae their voices with " hallooing and singing of anthems." But the part of a choir-boy is too histrionic to be wholeaooM 
in itself. Dicky Suet, * Cherub Dicky," was a chorister of Paul'b 


cslliedimk or collegiate churcbos, in order to be instmcted for tbe entertainment of tbe court.** 
James I. paaaed a similar order. I do not allude to these facts to tbrow odium on tbe memory of a 
great queen, or of a good-bearted and calumniated monarcb, but tbat parents and children may be 
duly ihankiul that they do not live in the good old times, 

Shakapeare seems to haye foreseen, or more likely observed, one necessary consequence of this 
premature exhibition. "Jf they thould grow themselves to common players {as is most like, if their 
meojM are no hetier).*' The royal bounty would not, and could not, provide for all ; and many, who 
had the offer of liberal education and a sober livelihood, would never be weaned from the stimulating 
parsoit of their boyhood. The Children of the Revels were not always children ; and the argument 
of Kted, that Field, the juvenile actor, who played in " Epiccene," in 1609, could not be old enough 
to produce a combdy in 1611, and therefore could not be Massinger's coadjutor in the " Fatal Dowry," 
fills to the ground, when we see that in the same year, 1609, he was old enough to undertake a share 
in management with Shakspeare. I have little doubt that a considerable portion of those lads became 
confirmed players. Field must have been an actor of some eminence, — for we find tbat Henslowe 
stipulated to allow him six shillings a week (a fair salary at that time ), in addition to the profits of 
his share (a theatre was then a sort of joint-stock company), as a retaining fee. 

Bobert Dabome, though he appears in such poor plight in the mendicant letter, was a man of 
good &mily, and academic education. In the preface to his " Christian turned Turk," 1612, he says, 
* my own descent is not obscure but generous." He wrote besides the " Christian turned Turk,'» 
and the "Poor Man's Comfort," printed, probably long after his death, in 1655; ''The Devil aud 
Machiavel,* and the "Arraignment of London," which have not been discovered. He was in orders : 
his sermon, preached at Waterford, 1618, still survives. Perhaps be obtained some Irish prefer- 
ment^ and abandoned the "loathed stage." He was, however, by no means the only clerical dramatist 
of his Ume. Jasper Maine, and Cartwright, were both Divines, — the latter " a florid and seraphical 
presener," as old Fuller hath it. 

It does not appear to me certain, from Dabome's mention of " Mr. Fletcher's play and ours" that 
Msasinger ever assistod Fletcher. But an epigram of Sir Aston Cockayne, who knew them both 
well, and was Masainger^s friend and patron, is much stronger evidence on this point It is addressed 
to Humphrey Moeeley, on his publishing the folio Beaumont and Fletcher : — 

In tbe Urge book of plays you late did print 
In Beaumont and in Fletcher's name, why in't 
Did you not Justice ? Give to both their due? 
Since Beaumont of those many writ but few, 
And Mastinger in other few ; the main 
Being sweet issues of sweet Fletcher's brain. 
But how came I, you ask, so much to know 
Fletcher's chief bosom friend inform 'd me so. 

I eannot agree with Mr. OiflTord that the chief bosom friend was neccsnarily Massingcr himself,— nor do 
I know that his hand has been detected in any of Fletcher's surviving works : but I think the linei 
almost conclusive of the fact, which may furnish a field of curious investigation to Fletcher's next editor. 
Mr. OiflTord asks, could the play for which the small advance was solicited be the " Fatal Dowry 1 " 
There is no knowing. The "Fatal Dowry "was not printed till 1632; but this proves nothing. 
The " Unnatural Combat " was not printed till 1639, yet there is every reason to suppose that it was 
written prior to the " Bondman," as it is not mentioned in the office-book of Sir Henry Herbert ; 
and Massinger, in his dedication, calls it an " old tragedy." There is strong internal evidence, in the 
earlier scenes of the " Fatal Dowry,'* that it was written by a man in debt, — for their direct tendency 
is to make creditors odious, and to hold up the la^'s of debtor and creditor to detestation. But it is 
not the only play in which Massingcr has betrayed how keenly he felt 

* The world was not his friend, nor the ivorld's law.** 

He seldom slips an opportunity of glancing at the abuses of the courts, and the corruption of juslfce. 
The topic was, indeed, popular, — but he handles it with the sore sincerity of a sufferer. The " Citj 
Madam " sets forth with fearful vividncj»s the niij»cric8 to which the mere turn of trade might reduc* 


an honest man, and the worse than despotic power which the law put into the hands of the obdurate, 
— allowing the same individual to be at once plaintiff, judge, and executioner. I cannot but think, 
that in penning the pathetic pleadings of Luke in behalf of the unfortunate merchants, he forgot 
that he was putting his own afflicted heart into the mouth of a villain. The " New Way to Pay Old 
Debts,** by its very title, indicates an embarrassed author ; and the whole piece is a keen and powerful 
satire on the mis-g^vemment which furnishes arms to the wicked. 

My revered father, in a lecture which I shall never forget, with an eloquence of which the Notes 
published in his Remains convey as imperfect an impression as the score of HandeVs Messiah upon 
paper compared to the Messiah sounding in multitudinous unison of voices and instruments beneath 
the high embowered roof of some hallowed Minster, contrasted the calm, patriotic, constitutional 
loyalty of Shakspeare, with the ultra-royalism of Fletcher on the one hand, and the captious whiggism 
of Massinger on the other. He should have remembered that Shakspeare was a prosperous man, of 
a joyous poetic temperament^ while Massinger s native melancholy was exacerbated by sorrow and 

The sequel of hu story contains little but the dates of his works. His dedications inform us that 
he had patrons ; but we know not who were his bosom friends. In all probability he never married ; 
and if he loved, he has left not a stanza nor a hint of his success or rejection. Sometimes I have 
imagined that, like Tasso, he fixed his affections too high for hope, as his fortune were certainly 
too low for marriage. I ground this fency, — for it is but a fancy, — on the " Bondman,'* the " Very 
Woman,** and the ** Bashful Lover,** in all of which high-bom ladies become enamoured, as they 
suppose, of men of low degree. To be sure, they all turn out to be gentlemen in diBguise. This 
discovery is necessary to make the marriage prudent, like the reformation of the agreeable rake in 
the last scene of more recent comedy. But after all, the lady*s love was for the slave, the incognito. 
Methinks, he soothed his despondency with a visionary unsphering of those stellar beauties, whose 
effluence was Dredominant over his affections, though they hardly consoled him with so much as 
** collateral light" He dreamed and shut his eyes, and tried to dream again — a dream he willed not 
to see realized,* for whatever might be his political bias, he was sufficiently aristocratic in all that 

* Masdnger, Ubtfal as he was, had a tuperatitinoB horror of wi€salliane€* 

One aery with adrantago^ ne'er dieoloees 
The eagle and the wren. Tiasue and frieie 

On the same garment ! Honbtroua. Maid op Homour. 

Where, by the way, Mamrfnger eeems to hare tumbled into an anti-climaz. For the eagle'k aery and an old eloak are 
as ill matched as the frlese and tissue. But the allusion is to the lirery of Mary of France and Charles Brandon. 
Things may be good or beautiful in themselTea, but their dignity or meanness is merely circumstantial. The foci's 
coxcomb was the Kv^mr'm of the Persian king. Vide Arifttophanes in Avibus, aut Tooem Ku^mrm apud Scapulam. 
The same oompa ri aon a little varied occurs in the *• New Way to Pay Old Debts," where Margaret says to Lord 

Yon are nobler 
I of a low descent, howerer rich, 
And tissue matched with scarlet suits bnt 01. 
Where scarlet, which, fai point of taste, might match with tissue very well. Is evidently chosen as the dty colour. 
But the sentiment is much more characteristic of Margaret^ who could not be ignorant of her father's fll name^ and 
who was in love with a page, that of the high and haughty « Maid of Honour," whose descent could not be mean, and 
who loved the man to whom she depreciated herself. Besides, her scruple is frivolous and vexatious, for her lover is 
but a left-handed offspring of royalty. She had better reason to otject to his birth than he to hers. In these oaasa. 
the old dramatists and romanUeal writers had an infallible mode of reconciling nature and aristocratic prejudice. 
The lovely Shepherdess or Squire of low degree always proves to be a lost or disowned shoot of royalty or nobility. 
<« The Winter's Tale ** furnishes a beautiful instance of thto lucky ktmy^in^, 

Cervantes happily ridicules this sort of equivocal generation. « The knight having set out for the army, comes to 
battle, overcomes the king's adversary, takes many towns, makes divers conquests, returns to court, visits his mistress 
In the ordinary manner, and the affair being concerted between them, demands her in marriage as the reward of his 
•ervice ; the father refusea to grant the boon on pretence of not knowing who this hero is ; but, nevertheless, eithef 
\(j stealth or some other way, the infanta becomes his wife ; and at last the king is oveijoycd at his gopd fortune, when 
the knight proves to be the son of a valiant monarch of some unknown oonntry, for I suppose it could not be found oi 
the m«p.''~I>on Quixote, part 1, book 9. chap. 7. 

Don 't be too sure thai he *e a Be^eaUr, 


eonditioiL Old Adam makes servitude as venerable as grey hairs ; TimorCa steward and household 
remain steadfast when all the " summer flies" have flown. Their loyalty is a holy relic of antique 
faith, an amulet against the infection of their master's misanthropy. Shakspeare seems to have 
disliked nobody — but constables and jobbing justices, and deals very leniently with them. He was 
in perfect good-humour with court, city, and country, and spared none of them when a joke came 
into his head. But again be it remembered, Shakspeare was a prosperous man, of a happy 
complexion, and could take an excursion when he chose into Warwickshire or Fafe'ry land. 

We are naturally curious to inquire whether Massingcr was known to Shakspeare ; and whether 
they liked one another ; and what they thought of each other ; and whether they ever took a cup of 
sack together at the Mitre or the Mermaid ; and whether Massinger was ever umpire or bottle-holder 
(he was too grave to be a partaker) at those wit-combats, so happily described by Old Fuller ; * which 
nevertheless I shrewdly suspect, if taken down after the manner of the Nodes Ambrosianoi, f would 

Hear too, Alexander t Usher to talao Crttnide ' 

Hector, whose patience 
Is, as a virtue, fixt, to-day was mored,— 
He chid Andromache, and btruck liis armourer ; 
And, like as there wore husbandry in war. 
Before tlie sun rose he wns liamessed light. 
And to the field goes he ; where every flower 
Did. as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
In Hector's wrath !— Act i. a. 2. 

It may be asked, do not these poetic speeches in the mouths of underlings rlolate dramatic dteorum f H S^Mm of 
Aristotle ? Certainly they do. Servants in general not only do not talk thus,— but they talk nothing like It There is 
no hint in their talk, and probably no germ in their thoughts, that could under any circumstances expand into such 
poetry ; and were a plebeian character to hold such language throughout a play, it would be an impropriety, in any 
but a romantic-pastoral drama, which nowhere imitated the language of real life. But with Shakspeare these 
speeches constituted the vhole cAarae/«r,— the personn merely appear to utter them, and then depart. He felt in 
truth that they were too poetical, too Shakspearian^ to be entrusted to any of the active partners of the plot The 
Greek dramatists, whom practice Shakspeare follows in many things, whether knowingly or unconsciouriy. In like 
manner generally distribute the itfyk fti^ — the reflections and retrospects, and descriptions, which suggest either a 
splendid or an abstruse diction, between the Chorus and the Nuntius,— who are, for the meet part, no dkarar/er« .- 
the Chorus being only «r.2tvrik •t{««7»c a steeping partner, and the Nuntius a viva-voce newrpaper. The restricted 
plan of the Greek drama, and the epic nature of many of its subjects, necessitated a great deal of narration, which it 
has been thought necessary to enliven by a gorgeous display of imagery, and an oriental pomp of words. But the 
good sense of the authors showed them that such language, uttered by interested personages, would destroy all 
verisimilitude ; they therefore committed it to the Nuntius, whose only business was to talk. The Knglish reader 
may fiirm a good idea of this part from the choruses to Henry V. 

* •« Many were the wit-combats betwixt him (Sliakspeare) and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish 
great galleon and an English man-of-war. ^Master Jonson, like the former, was built higher in leaming.—eolid 
but slow in his performances. Shakspeare, with an English man-of-war.— lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, 
oould turn with all tides, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of hia wit and invention.**— JFWUerV 

t The genuine Noctes (now collected, rovlsed, and published in a separate form) will not only afford to fkitore 
historians a true feeling of the spirit of the times, and to all readers a ihoeing-horn to thought or to laughter, but 
form a valuable addition to dramatic literature. Barring an occasional irregularity of plot, they are perfect specioiaw 
of comedy. Indeed, I know not any comedy in which actual conversation is so naturally imitated, without aver 
stiffening into debate or amabtgan oratory, or slipping into morning-call twaddle. Whatever the strain, whether wit, 
or fun, or pathos, or philosophy,— it arises spontaneously, as the tones of an eolian harp ; you never feel that the party 
are met to discuss anything. One topio succeeds another, with the same apparent casualty, and the nme undor 
current of suggestion, as in the Odes of Pindar. The characters are sustained with consummate skill and consistmcy. 
Christopher North himself is, perhaps, the happiest speaking mask since My Father Shandy and My Uncle Toby were 
silent (for Ella is Charles himself). To be sure, the cnmpotators have no bowels for Cockneys or Whigs. Yet I like 
their Toryism, because it is of the old, hearty, cavalier, fox-himting, beef and port kidney, such as Ikn and Shakspeare, 
and Dick Corbett (pride of the totrn), would have chimed in with. Tories, of the Ambrosial sect, understood, that in 
order to be a gentleman it is necessary to be a man. Tlie prudish Conservatism of the present day is no more like 
genuine old Toryism, than Milton's Republicanism was like modern Radicalism. Let all Bluet, of either sex, or 



not bare much enhanced the fame either of Shakspeare or Jonson, whatever they might say for their 
conviviality. The tcitrcombaia in their plays, are the dullest sins of which they are ever guilty. 
Repartee is the accomplishment of lighter thinkers and a less earnest age. Besides, Mia-w lurfiiMva 
SvyiwrV- Most likely Shakspeare and ^lassinger met, but we have no ground to coi\jecturc the 
amount of their acquaintance. As dramatist?, they were hardly contemporary — at least, Shakspeare 
retired some years before Massinger produced his earliest extant play ; though no less than nine, 
exclusive of the " Old Law ** (his share in which is doubtful), are placed, in the lists of Malone and 
Gifibrd, before the " Virgin Martyr." * Let us take it for granted that the old Bard encouraged the 
joung a«pirant (for he knew the fatalities of the human will too well to dissuade), and prognosticated 
his future greatness ; though the prognostics of poets with regard to each other are as fallible as their 
political vaticinations. There can be no doubt that Massinger admired and studied Shakspeare. 
In the haste of composition, his mind turned up many thoughts and phrases of the elder writer, in a 
more or less perfect state of preservation, but he was neither a plagiarist nor an imitator. His style, 
conduct, characterisation, and metre, are perfectly distinct. No serious dramatist of the age owed 
Shakspeare so little. Yet in a mock romance called " Wit and Fancy in a Maze, or Don Zara del 
Fogo," 1656, where an uproar of the poeta \& described, Massinger is introduced as one of Shakspeare's 
body-guard. Hence, and from an ambiguous expression or two in his prologues,^ seeming to glance 

Dooe, — libenJ or oonBervmtive, high church, low church or no church,— water drinkers or liqueur sippers,— keep In 
jfO0d nmpanpt oul of the reach of Christttpher's crutch. 

♦ Their titles are^ - The Forced Lady," *• The Secretary," « The Noble Choice." •• The Wandering Lo vers," "Philenzo 
and Hippolyta," ** Antonio and Vallia," ** The Tyrant," '* Fast and Welcome ** (a title that does not sound popish), and 
The Woman's Plot," which last was acted at Court in 16S1. All these, except "The Secretary,** which seems to 
have been printed, though now lost, with "The Spanish Viceroy " (acted 16S4), •'Minerva's Sacrifice** (Nov. 3, 1629), 
and ** Believe as You List" (May 7i I63I), perished in Mr. Herald Warburton's kitchen by a more ignominious 
oombasticNi than the Alexandrian library, though that was twice consumed.— first by Christian zeal, and then by 
flaraeenie fsnaticiam. Mr. Warburton should have walked barefoot over the ashes of Herculaneum for a penance ; 
bat he did no penance : and I am afraid he did scold his cook, who was not to blame. Yet I would commend this 
incidcBt to the serions reflection of those persons who would not have domestics able to write, or to read writing 
Only condder, — they might have been sermons instead of plays. Fifty-two sermons. — warranted original ! We 
need not. however, utterly despair of recovering some of these sybilline books. The ** Parliament of Love " came 
to light very opportunely fur Mr. Gifford, by whom it was first printed (though with some unavoidable lacuna?) 
fmsB a MS. in the poasession of Mr. Malone, and supposed to be Massinger's autograph, with sundry obliterations 
and interpolations, by the offic-ioua— I mean official — Sir II. Herbert. A lucky discovery put the fact beyond 
dovbt. Mr. Gifford, in the interval between his first and secf^nd edition, received a letter from Mr. Octavius 
Gilchrist, announcing that Mr. BInre, in collecting materials for a Hiitory of Derbyshire, had discovered, among the 
papers of the late Mr Gell of Ilopton, a copy of the originsl edition of the ** Duke of Milan,"— presented by the author 
to 9ir Francis Foljambe, a Derbyshire gentleman, to whom he afterwards dedicated his " Maid of Honour,"— interlined 
and corrected throughout with his own liand, and preceded by a copy of verses addressed to Sir Francis liiniHclf. Tlie 
acquisition of this treasure mn»t have brightened at least one day in GiflTord's painful existence. It established 
Maaaingrr^ claim to the " Parliament of Love," sometime attributed to Howley,— a play in which the Editor had 
flw inter«kt of a fiMter-father, — though, as seems to me, of no very gracious child. It decided the orthography of 
;er's name.— which Mr. Malone would have to be Messenger,— as it is spelt in Davison's endorsement. A 
who makes a name has an undoubted right to spell it as he ch oses. But, above all. Mr. GiCford ascertained 
Massinger's «>wn hand the correctness of several of his conjectural emendations ! His triumph must have been 
■• great aa Bentley's when he found that his conjectural restoration of a Greek inscription was the actual reading of 
These statements, derived from the advertisement to the second edition, may give us hope, that in some 
hiding-place of some old Catholic or Royalist mansion, redolent of foisty antiquity— where countless • 
M of the genua Blatta have wrought their winding catacombs for centuries,- some unknown labour of 

r, Fletcher, or Shakspeare himself, n^y now be erumhling Were it but a note or a memorandum 

While apeaking of Mr. Gifford, I must take leave gently to complain of him, and other invei>tigntors of 
literature, for referring, with the most pmvt«king bibliographical accuracy, to books and manuscripts which, to 
all bat me out of ten thousand, might as well be in the lost Pleiad as where they are : instead of transcribing the 
p a ^a gfi required to eiitabli'«h the point in question. I am sorely puzzled about Don Zara del Fogo, with whom I 
have nn acqu^tintance. and no chance of an introduction. I cannot tell what ho implies by making Massingrr a 
tatfllite nf Hhakitpeare. 

t FTe •submits 
Til the ar.ive cennure of tlioHC abler wita 


at the impatience of Ben at the ill-usage of his "New Inn," and other senUia, it has heen surmised, 
I hope erroneously, that he was ill-affected towards Jonson. It is an unwise thing in an author to 
show that he is hurt, and a rain attempt to appeal against the decrees of such an irresponsible despot 
as an audience. It is only for a Coriolanus, Shakspcare's Coriolanus, to say to the people, " I 
banish you.'* But it is worse than unwise to reproach an aged genius with the decay of his powers, 
and if Massinger joined with the '' stinkards, in the twopenny rooma," or the gallants who took 
tobacco on the stage, to insult the infirmities of poor old Ben, not all our admiration of the Dramatist 
ought to save the man from contempt. But I do not, I cannot believe it. Ctenius may be vicious, 
may be mad, but can it be base ? 

Massinger himself was not tame to censure. It appears that his " Emperor of the East ** was 
opposed on its first appearance. The dishonour was fairly wiped ofif when the play was commanded 
at court. A court bespeak * was the highest favour a dramatist could look for ; and Massinger took 
the occasion to express his vexation in an occasional prologue, as follows : — 

As ever, sir, you lent a gracious ear 

To opprened innocence, now roucbsafe to bear 

His weakness, nor dares he profess that when 
The critics laugli. he '11 laugh at them again. 
Strange self-love in a writer l—Prol&guf. to Guardian, 

Let others, building on their merit, say 

You *re in the wrong, if you move not that way 

Which they prescribe you ; as ytm were bound to learn 

Their maxims, but incapable to diKoem 

"Twist truth and falsehood. Ours had rather be 

Censured by some fur too much obsequy 

Than taz'd of self-opinion.— Pro/o^iie to Ba*\ful Lowr, 

» cannot positively affirm that Massinger did not write this mob-adulation, for everything he has written in rhyme Is 
exceedingly clumsy, but there is no proof whatever that he did write it Prologues were then, as in later ttmes^ 
after-thoughts, and in general not composed by the author of the play. No one can thinkt for instance, that the 
prologue to ** King Henry Vill.** was written by Sbakspeare,— or Ben Jonson either. Such jobs were generally 
committed to the operatives of the play-house. Dryden seems to have been the first who fairly set his wits to work 
at a prologue or epilogue. I believe Mr. Miles Peter Andrews was the last who acquired a reputation in this line. 
Epilogue writers in particular have applied the experiauntum erucii, to ascertain how much doggrel, vulgarity, and 
impudence, they could get an actress to speak, or a gallery to endure. 

Nothing sliort of demonstration shall make me believe that Massinger curried favour by Insulting Jonson. There 
were hands enough about any play-house for such dirty work, and I beg leave to propoee that the obnoxious lines be 
attributed to Swanston, the "wretched player,** as Gifford calls him, who, while his fellow actors either fought fcv 
thvir royal patron, or were content to beg, steal, or starve, as best they could, blunk over to the prevailing party, and 
professed that ** ho had always been a preobyterian in his heart." I confess, I can bring no evidence of this, only 
6wani>ton was an actor at the theatres where Blassinger's plays were produced, very famous in Chapman's Bussp 
(tAmboUt and the only one of the qualitp that ratted : and what is a little additional soot to a chimney-sweeper? 

* Massinger had his share of btipcakt. It may surprise some of our Sabbatarian high-church-men that the •cml- 
oanonized Charlea ordered "The Guardian,**— no very Hannah Moritco drama— to be performed at court on SmroAY, 
ISth January, 1633. Just after the appearance of Prynne's Histriomastpx. This looks like defiance, and to say the beat 
of it, was in bad taste. For the Book of Sports there was at least a plausible pretext— the Inhibition of healthfal 
exercives in the open air does not induce the labouring class to keep the sabbath holy. But there is a wide difltarsnoa 
between out-of-door recreation, permitted to the poor on their only day of leisure, and a play performed for lucre. In a 
crowded room, before persons who may see plays any day in the week. But it was by no means the only instance In 
which Charles, partly from opposition to the puritans, and partly In oomplaiaanoe to his wife, outraged the rellgioua 
feelings of his bcbt friends. He actually gave leave to a French company to play on sermon days during Lent. How 
came it that Laud did not remonstrate against acts, which, whether criminal or not, were certainly tuati exempli, 
and superfluously unpopular? Terhaps he did-4md was disregarded ; perhaps bis devotion to the king, as bead uf 
the church, closed his lips. Yet St. Ambrose did not scruple to put an emperor to open penance. Loyalty is the 
bounden duty of a Christian, but ultra-royalism is the Achilles heel of the Church of England, which has suflvfed 
more by the reign of Cliarles II than by the temporary domination of its enemies Sir Henry Herbert, who kn«w 
vail enough who was at the bottom of the Lent business, refused ten pounds from the Frenoh players ** beeamse hi 


A aiinrt petftlon. At jour fttt. In nm 
The poet kneeU, and to TOUT lf^)Mt7 
Appeals for Jottios. What we now praeent, 
WlMD firat ooDceived, In hia vote and intcBi 
Waa «ered to your plaaaore. In meh part 
With hit heat <tf fant^, jwdymmt, langnaye, art 
Faahioned and formed ao aa migbt well and ma j 
Deserve a weleome, and no Tnlfar wa j. 
He dnnt not, lir, at lodli a aolemn feaet. 
Lard hia graTe matter with one aeiirriloiia jest; 
Bat labiwred that »} pawafs might appear 
But what the Qoeen without a hinah m^ht hear* 
And 9€t ihU poor work svglered bp Ike rage 
And enow </«mm Catoi oftht Btagt. 
Yet ttm he hopes this ptap, which them was seem. 
With sore epes, amd eomdewuud out of their spUemp 
May he by 700, the SBpreme jndgsb Mt free 
And raised above the reach of calnmn j. 

I know not what Qneen Henrietta did and did not blush at^ bat oertainlj I would not nndertake to 
read the " Emperor of the East " in the presence of female miyestjr, withoat considenble curtailment, 
and the entire excision of the prose part of the fourth scene of the foarth acty in which the author 
(not Missinger, who nerer wrote proee), for the sake of a seurrilouB jest, has conunitted a medical 

tHsktd to render the Qinoen, his wtisiress, am aoeeptahle sendee. Yet he made Mssrinfsr paj twvi^ Aiii ttnf for a 
plaj he would not permit to be p st fotm e d . — Soeak ! 

(tneen Henrietta paid Mssrinfsr a mora nnneaal compliment than ofdering his playa at conrt* She attended the 
pcrfonmnee of hia •^Cleander" (a leat tragedy), at the BlackfrianT Theatre. Considering what theatrm then were, 
when the yoanggallanU were in the habit of displayfng their bravery and tobaooo-plpce on stools npon the etage (a 
nniaanee which Cbariee IL thought neoeemry to abate by an order in oonndl), and when tliers wsre twopenny rooms 
■h eie ale and tobaoon were sold, I cannot think thia a very qneraly or prudent coodeeoension. On another occasion, 
Pebmary, ion, when Devenant's ** Triumphs of the Prince d' Amour " was presented at the Middle Temple, the 
dangfater of Henri Qnatre with her ladice eat on the platform with the promiacooas aaiemblsge, in the dreei of 
citiacns* wives, then far more distioct from ooort habiliments than at present. Ctiarles slioald not have permitted 
tiMnc rsgariee. Unseemly oondeecen^on never atr^iee for habitual hauteur ; and unpopular personages, by bunting 
pnpaiarity. only add omtempt to hatred. Pfipular charseters. while their day laeta, may do anything ; their vices 
are •>o>y praufi of a mmd heart ; their ill-humoars are dulces AmarplUdis irtf— pretty Faapir'a way— their groeMst 
alfcnrdify is perfume in the public nostrils. 

Declpiunt cscom vitia, ant etiam bco 
Ddectant. vdnti fialbinum polypos Agnc 

Bnt every mas that tqninled was not a Wilkes, even in the heyday of Wilkee and liberty. Kcmbleli cough and Keen's 
Mm foeas " were only admired hi KcmUe and Keen. Deedemona might not have foncied Ignatius Sancbo. 
ihe foil in love with Othellow Tbt; very peculiaritiea, which aa qrmbols of individuality, serve as pegs for luve 
are Joat as liable to arrest the burs of hatred. Every one must have felt this in their own oaaa. A lisp 
provincial aeoent— a oaat of the eye— im peiU me* reUrousoi, how amiable in the amiable, in the 

^ nothing wrong : an onpopnlar person, especially if of high rank, can do nothing right. 

afteted pvitaaSeal rigour. Yet the levities faito which Marie Antofaietto waa aednoed by the over- 

rved np aa a bomne-houdu for jacobin malioa. But what with the common onthinking 

iy pr^ilndice, honomce deadly ranooor when vulgarity is intenslAed by fanaticism. Poor Henrietta and 

I eorely mietakm if they thought that by publicity and ^Icndour they could appeaae a hatred 

tlw throne of duty. 

nfsr received any pecuniary bounty from the king beyond the cuatcmary honnrarinm, 

with the playera. Charles gave Cartwright forty pounds for his ** Royal SUve," perhaps from 

itiment r w^ainor ieil with the name. His interest in theatricals waa vaoro than consistent with 

ef hfo character. He fumiehed Shirley with the plot of his -Gamester,** and desired Sir H. Herbert to 

it waa the beat play he had aeen for seven years. I like Charles all the better for these things, but 

I did not. Hie esfSBsaa in mnsf nes and pageanta would have paid and armed many loyal soldiers, and 

tfa patriot er two. ^ 


ftnachroniBin. But surely Masslnger could have no right, after authorising this prologue, to reflect 
on Ben. 

With this doubtful exception, our author seems to have liyed on good terms with all his brethren. 
No line in his plays could annoy any writer — ^living or dead — ^which is more than can be said for 
Shakspeare, who was rather prone to parody. Shirley, Ford, May, Qoff (in a Latin epigram which 
would puzzle Martial, and break Priscian's heart), George Donne (whom Mr. Weber innocently 
confounded with Dr. John Donne), and a cort^e of Jays, and W. B.*8^ and T. J.'s, heralded his plays, 
like the dwarf before the giant, with commendatory verses, which it is well to accept as testimonies 
of friendship — for assuredly they are good for nothing else. 

His dedications are beautiful samples of pure mother English, commendable for a self-respectfu] 
respectfulness, very different from the presumptuous adulation of Diyden and Young, but painful 
from their weary iteration of complaint and acknowledgment — 

I We heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds 

With ooldnees itill returning ; 

Alas ! the gratitndo of men 

Hath otteMiT left me mourning.— Woriwwortii. 

Complaint seems to have become habitual to him, like the sickly tone of a confirmed valetudi- 
narian, who thinks you unfeeling if you tell him he is looking well. We are accustomed to hear of 
the peaceful days of Charles, as days when the sister Muses sang together in the warm light of a 
Christian Phcebus. Yet Massinger continually talks of his '' despised quality," and addresses each 
successive dedicatee as his sole and last hope. Oifford says, " all Massinger^s patrons were persons 
of worth and consideration." He never degraded himself, like poor Otwi^, by dedicating to a titled 
courtezan ; but his principal patron, Philip of Pembroke and Montgomery, has left a stain upon the 
name of Herbert which no dedication can wash away. His ignorance and cowardice have, no doubt, 
been much exaggerated ; but of his brutality, meanness, and ingratitude, there can be no doubl 
at all 

The only nndramatic poem (if so it may be called) of any length that Massinger has left^ memo- 
rializes the death of this nobleman's eldest son, who died at Florence, January, 1636. It might as 
well be foigotten — if it were not for one passage, curious as illustrating the custnms of the age. 

That great ladies mourn 
His sodden death, and lords Tie at his nm *^^ 

Drops of oompassioo ; that true sorrow fed 
With showers of tears, still bathes the widowed bed 
Of his dear spouse— 

Now this "dear spouse** had never been, in any rational or Christian sense, a wife at alL 
Charles liOrd Herbert was married (if the profane abuse of a holy ceremony can constitute marriage) 
to Mary, daughter of Yilliers Duke of Buckingham, 1634, when the poor little girl was so young, 
that it was expedient the bridegroom should immediately set out on his travels. Providence 
employed the small-pox to disappoint the avarice or ambition of the match-makera. Had this 
young couple arrived at nubile years, would either of them have been bound in conscience to stand 
to the bargain ? 

Is it not lamentable to see a man like Massinger, whom we would preserve in everlasting remem- 
brance, constrained to write nonsense for a poor pittance from one who deserved not the impunity 
of oblivion t 

Nil hHbet infcliz p.iuperta8 durius in se 

Quam quod ridicules homines focit Juvbnal, ilL IA2. 

Tlio woes of poverty might well be borne. 
Were not the poor compelled to merit sooni. 

Massinger did feel, painfully feel his humiliation. The degradation of patronage ate Into hit 
soul. It is good to be dependent, where the dependency grows out of natural relation, or constituted 
order. But to sue for dependence ; — to court the bondage of obligation, aa it ia a sore evil for any 

man, to for the higfaly-gified and kigb-miiuled it is vorse than pacp^erisxn. litenture is a bad 
tnde ; bat it k better to paxiae it as m trade, than calculate apon the bovatr of great ones» vkkh 
la only honourable when ** it droppeth aa the giadooi dev from heaven.* To invard disqaietade, 
and a desire to utter in &lBetto wliat his porcrtj forhade him to q»eak in his nataral tones^ rather 
than to any sincere sympathy with the nascent zepnbiicanism of his agcv ^^ must ascribe the angry 
dislike of king% and courtay and ministera, whieh is so obtrasire in Xasingei's pl^ys, and the 
annfffisMTy, — impoetical baseness of many of hia character!^ His politieal sentiments, abstractedly 
conaidered, are, fin- the moat part» jost ; hot they are thrast in heed and shonlden^ where there is 
no dramatie call for them. He coold not get fiurly oot of England — not the grand ancestral 
Sngland of imaginatire patriotism — but the fiKtions, qaanelaome^ halfaenrile, half-rebellioas 
Kngland of hia own day. He felt the manacles about him. 

And dragsvA, mt each remoire, a lenftbaiiiig cfasia. 

His political alliuddns sometimes brought him into trouble ; and if King Chazles had not >»cen 
more liberal than Sir Heniy (who did little more credit to the name of Herbert than his kinsman 
Philip), he might hare suffered more sererely. On the 11th January, 1631, the Master of the 
Rerds refused to license a play of lus, the name of which has not transpired, " because it did 
eontain dangerous matter, aa the deposing of Sebastian king of Portugal by Philip XL, there being 
peaee sworn between Rngland and Spain. 1 had my fee notwithstanding, which belongs to me for 
reading it oyer, snd ought always to be brought with a book." So fiu* Sir Henry, who seems to 
haTtt been a mighty gnat-strsiner, and a bit of a puritan, who reconciled his conscience to the 
pro&ne employment of reading and allowing plays^ by exacting the uttermost fiuihing from poet 
and player — holding with hiB/eUow-creature in Sheffield's Seaaion, 

Thoofh tbe function waa wicked— the alAry was good. 

Kow mark the difference between a Jack in office and a generous Eing. In 1638, when the 
dupute ran high about ship-monor Af avinger produced a play on the history of Don Pedro the 
Cmel, called " The King and Snl^ in which occurred the following passage :— 

MoniM? We ll ralae aappliea which ways we pleaae^ 
And fone yoo to mbecrlbe to blanks, in which 
We II molct you as we shall think fit. The Ccaara 
In Rume were wise, acknowledging no laws 
But what their swords did ratify ; the wives 
And daughters of tbe senators bowing to 
Their wills as deities. Ac 

* Thia is a piece taken out of Philip Massiuger's play, called the King and the Subject, and 
entered here for cTcr, to be remembered by my son, and those that cast their eyes upon it, in 
honoor of king Charles my nuistfr, who reading over tbe play at Newmarket, set his mark upon the 
place with his own hand, and in thc^^e words : — ' This is too insolent, and to be changed/ Note, 
thai the poet makes it the speech of a king, Don Pedro, king of Spain, and spoken to his subjects.** 
— Rfgider of Mader of BetfeU. 

Now there can be litUe doubt, that by Don Pedro Massinger meant King Charles, and more than 
insinuated that the lilterty taken with the people's purse would be extended to their wiven and 
danghters ; and had Charles not chanced to read the play at Newmarket, ten to one Sir Ilcnry 
woold hare dealt with Don Pedro as he did with Don SebastLm, pocketed his fee, and left the poc( 
his pains for his labour. But the king was content to set his mark over the obnoxious passage, and 
gave his special allowance to the writer who had gone out of the way for a clap-trap at his expeuRe. 
In the same register we read : — 

" At Greenwich, the 4th of June. Mr. W. Murray gave me power from the king to allow of the 
play, vid x>l(f me that he woald warrant it." 

Sir ITenry informs ub that the name of the play was altered. Mr. Malone conjectures that it w.u 
tb'S " Tyrant* before mentioned; but I do not f^ec how that could mend the matter. It wan acted 
Inoo 5, 1638, but never printed, and has not been found. The Rubj<H:t has great dramatic 

d 2 


capabilities ; but I doubt whether Maaatnger would treat it worthily either of the theme, or of 
himself. Neither Tragedy nor Comedy, in the strictest force of the terms, was his proTince. 
Besides, he had an unlucky habit of getting into a passion with his bad charaete^^ and mmking 
them wilful demonstrators of their own depravity. Smollett, particularly in his Count Fathom, 
fiUls into this mistake. Euripides was not free from it. It nowhere occurs in Homer, Cenranlea, 
or Shakspeare, the great and true dramatists, and very seldom in Fielding or Sir Walter Scott^ 

Massinger's excellence— a great and beautiful excellence it is — ^was in the expression of Tirtoe, in 
its probation, its strife, its victory. He could not, like Shakspeare, inyest the perverted will with 
the terrors of a magnificent intellect, or bestow the cestus of poetry on simple nnconacions lovelineaSb 

We ilraw to a close. After " The King and Subject,** so happy in its timely expurgation, Haasinger 
produced two dramas, " Alexius, or the Chaste Lover,'* and " The Fair Anchoress of Pausilippo." 
It is a pity they are both lost, for the titles promise much in his best way. The last was acted in 
January, 1640. On the 16th March in the same year, he went to bed in apparent health, and was 
found dead in the morning in his house on the Bankside. Such is the received account ; but he 
seems to have had none to care for him, none to mark his symptoms, or to detect the slow decay 
which he might conceal in despair of sympathy. 

Poorly, poor man, he lived— poorly, poor man, he died. 

He was buried in the churchyard of St. Saviours, and the comedians were his only mourners — 
perhaps half envious of his escape from the storm that was already grumbling aflEur, and sending 
ahead its herald billows. No stone marked his neglected resting-pU^e, but in the parish register 
appears this brief memorial, "March 20, 1639-40 — buried Philip Massinger, a STRANaKR." His 
sepulchre was like his life, obscure : like the nightingale, he sung darkling — it is to be feared, like 
the nightingale of the &ble^ with his breast against a thorn.* 

John Ford + was descended from a fiunily long settled In the north of Devonshire. Those who 
have an opportunity of consulting Prince's " Worthies of Devon,** may find a great deal about his 
genealogy, but littie or nothing about himselfl Suffice it to say, that Thomas Ford, of Ilsington, 
married the sister or daughter " of the famous Lord Chief Justice Popham, and had issue John the 
Poet and several others.** John the Poet was baptized in Ilsington church, 17th April, 1586, and 
became a member of the Middle Temple, November 1602. He found a cousin, John Ford (the 
Fords were almost all Johns,) at Oray*s Inn. No small advantage is it for a youth, on his first 
entrance at town or college, to have a kinsman or friend established just before him, old enough fsr 
a counsellor, and not too old for a compamon.:t ^o the influence of John Ford, of Gray's Inn, it 

* FoUowiag Qifford, I was here led into an error fai the first edition, whidi I snffiBr to ftead In the text, tiie i 
to fix attention on the eoneotion. Maaringer was boried In St. Bavioar>, Maidi 18. 163II-9; and no leas a aom than 
£8 was paid for his funeral, which shows that he was interred with nnnsual oost and oeremony. Qillbffd (atrang^ 
enough) did not know that erery person there boried, who did not bdong to the parish, was tamed •* a ttroMger." 
See theee facts in Collier's Memoirs nf the Principal Actors in the Plajfs <)f Skakspsare. 

t Lucian wrote a whimsical pieoe called Aisi^ ^mmttm* the lawsuit of the bowels. The letter E mig^t find 
ground for litigation in the names of Siakqiear or Siakeqieare, Masstnger or Messenger, and Ford or Fordo. I am 
not aware that any autograph of the last has been diaoorered ; but the anagram, Fide Honor, seen in the title-pagea 
«f some of liio plays, pleads for the final B. I doubt, however, if anagrams are legal evidence in theee cases; and the 
matter is not worth «ontestingr-ae this anagram is BO way significant or pneflgnratire, like some whidi Camden baa 
collected. The most extraordinary inatance of anagrammatical propheoy that I lemcmber, Is that of Hocatio Nelssn, 
—Honor est a Nile, The Cabala cannot equal it. 

X This otaeenration I owe to my late father, who often ussd to dwell on the adrantage he derived from finding hia 
fellow Christ's-boy Middleton, af terwarda Bishop of Calcutta, at Cambridge, and the leea he sostained at the depar- 
ture of sodi a gnide and example. I experienced a similar loos at Oxford, in the late Bishop of Barbadoee, now maater 
of St AagosUne's College, Canterbury, though his rank In the nnlveralty would have prohibited him ttom foelatfng 
with a freshman who was not his kia— an. 


maj ptriiaps be ftitribnied, that John Ford, of ihe Middle Temple, stuck io his legal studies, and 
penererad in hia profession, seemingly with good success, though we know not what was the peculiar 
natara of hia professional engagementa. He did not forget the obligation, but affectionately 
femembared hia conainy and ia anzions to proclaim to the world, that he had not left his " calling 
fbr Um idle trade V 

Aa plaja and maaqnes were periodically represented by the Inna of Court, a young lawyer's 
becoming a writer of plays could be no indecorum : yet it waa not in this line that Ford first 
appeared in print He waa early in the field. In 1606, in his eighteenth year, he published 
^ Fkme'a Memorialy" a tribute to the memory of Charles Blount> Lord Mountjoy f , for by that title 
lie ia better and more honourably known, than by the earldom of Devonshire. It is dedicated to the 
Lady Penelope, the unhappy cause of the great Mountjoy's unhappiness. Ford speaks of himself as 
^a yoang stranger, totally unknown " to the lady, and probably to her lord also ; but the sad history 
and premature death of such a man must haye been rife in the mouths of men, and well might 
actuate a genius yet in the egg, but desUned to be potent in the issues of erratic passion. 

The dread itrife 
Of poor himitaity's aflUctad wlU 
SCmggling in Tain with ratUeas dettiny.— WoaoawoarB. 

I aay genina in the egg, for a young crocodile could not crawl forth from the shell, prematurely 
crushed, a more nnaeemly miniature of its future self, tlian " Fame's Memorial" presents of the 
future Fofd. It ia wx>rth reading as a warning to all those fijrurs-casters who prognosticate the 
aaooeas or fidlnre of authors finom their JuvenUia, Had any seer predicted that the maker of all 
that staff waa to deserve a lofly seat among England's dramatists, he would have been as heartily 
laughed at^ aa he who should have foretold to Trajan, that a Christian pri^t would one day fulminate 

e Hta dedkatioiis ue tirMomdy itantlTe upon this point He oella ** The Lover's Melancholy ** " the first fruits of 
hie Meare,**— •« Tb Pity, Jte.," *' the first fruits of his leisure,**—" The Lady*s Trial,** ** the iame of less serious hours; ** 
and he tells the Eerlof Antrim, to whom he preeented the •'Fancies Chaste and Noble," that his "courtship of 
freatnesa ntrrtr aimed at any thrift.** 80 much the better ; but what was all this to the public or his patrons cither ? 

Fk)vd*e dedications preeent a onrioot contrast to Massinger's in another respect. In all his dramas his language, 
when not e b e cm e d by vain emulatica of Shalcspeare's involution and superfoetation of thought, is as clear as the stars 
CO a frosty night when there is no moon,->but in his prose addressee he is sometimes as laboriously unintelligible as 
if be weald give the Bphynx a lesso n" ■ t hat might have saved her life— to secure her meaning from being guessed by 
having no meaning at all. Take a specimen : ** As plurality hath reference to a multitude, so I eare not to please 
many, bat where there is a parity of condition, there the freedom of oonstmction makes the best musie." Is not this 
c«rfef« itsfUUiiai 9 

t TIm life of this great man is the finest subject for biography now unoccupied. He was the true conqueror of 
IrdaDd^—tbe firisndly rival of Essex,— the more his friend because he had been his rival ; but that sad destiny which 
maksa some men martjrrsi— and infiicts on others infinite pains, far worse than martyrdom,— tried Mountjoy to the 
atmoet. If be fslled,— <«( him that has no tin throw the first stove. He loved the sister of Essex, and she loved him. 
Bat the Coort of Wards interfered, and she was sold to Lord Rich. The natural consequences followed. Yet neither 
MooatJoy XV tiM lady snflbred in reputation, tOl they married. It is difficult to calculate the issues of etiquette. 
Ooort morality, when it is at the best, was rather conventional at all times,— so, as long as Lord Mountjoy (made Earl 
«f Ilevonahire by Jsmas L) suffered his connexion with Lady Rich to be a thing which everybody knew but nobody 
waa sai^wt to know, all went on weU. The lady was received, and Mountjoy enjoyed the favour which bis public 
awlee had earned. The lady parted from the man who, taking her against her will, must be deemed guilty of what 
•ha law. till latdty, poaiahed with death, a penalty which should have remained as long as death was inflicted at alL 
Tet I mj not that MoantJoy and she did rif^t. However bitter the cup of duty may be, duty commands us to drink 
tteveato tbedregs. 

Land married them. King James said, * Te have gotten a fair woman with a foul heart.** I hope this was not 
true. Bat Moan^joy felt it. He that might fairly have claimed the highest place among England's subJecU for his 
wen-dceerrlog, pined away, and died untimely,— the victim of an iniquitous law aiid an unfortunate passion. 

Ford was not tlie only poet that wept for the death of Mountjoy. The moral Daniel wrote one of his sweetest 
maundies on tliat oeeasion. 

Ford no doabt remembered Moun^oy and his hapless love when he wrote the '* Droken Heart." By far the fines* 
in an the old Dranatisti (Shakipeare of course excepted) is that in which Penthea laments her "enforced 


from the Seven Hills more dreaded edicts than hU own. In the paucity of direct information, we 
are glad to hang a coxyecture on any loop of an author's raggedness. Mr. Oifibrd has diseoyeredy 
from certain hints in the ** Memorial,** that Ford, at eighteen, was the prej of a hopelem passion 
for a nymph so cmel, as to earn the classical appellation of Lycia, or she-wolf Most poets think 
it necessary to be, or to have been, in love, and most men at eighteen &ncy themselves so. 

Ford submitted to the nsual dramatic apprenticeship, and like the pupils of the great masters in 
painting, was content to forward the works which his elders had designed, or retouch what time had 
discoloured. He assisted Webster in " A late Murther of the Sonne upon the Mother," a play not 
extant^ and perhaps no great loss. Such as have an appetite that way, and no dread of the night- 
mare, may " sup full of horrors " on the remaining dramas of Webster. No doubt it was of the same 
class with " Arden of Feversham," and the ** Yorkshire Tragedy." He joined with Decker in the 
"Fairy Knight" and the "Bristowe Merchant*' — both lost The latter was probably founded on 
some recent event. " An III Banning has a Qood End," acted at the Cockpit, 1618, "The London 
Merchant^" " The Royal Combat," and " Beauty in a Trance," entered on the Stationers' books, but 
not printed, were u»ed up by Mr. Warburton*s cook. 

The " Witch of Edmonton," by Decker, Rowley, and Ford, probably appeared about 1622 or 1623, 
for a woman, named Elizabeth Sawyer, was executed on a chaige of witchcraft in 1621, and the play 
was evidently got up to take advantage of a temporary excitement ; it has all the ineongmity thai 
might be expected in a hasty work of three authors. Ford once more united with Decker in the 
** Sun*s Darling," a moral masque, acted March, 1623-24, but supposed to be a reeast of an older 
piece. The last act^ which bears the strongest marks of Ford, may have been written at a later 
period, after the accession of Charles I., as it evidently alludes to the Scotch, and their repugnance 
to the religious ordinances of the prelacy *. As it was not printed till 1657, when it appeared under 

• Raybrlght, ** the Sun's Darling," haring snocesBfully aated himadf wf th the other Scmoos, thrantflns to Tialt the 
realm of Winter, hj which Scotland it eridently intended— mooh to the oonstenuttkm of the poonr inhaMtante, two 
of whom open the 6th act, with poUtio grumblings, for which they are thus rebuked 1^ Winter ;— 

What sullen mnrmurings doee your gall bring forth ? 
Will you proT *t true^ •* No good oomes from the north?" 
Bold, nnoy mortals, dare you then aspire 
With snow and ioe to quench the sphere of fire ? 
Are your hearts firoaen like your dime, from thence 
All temperate heafa fled of obedience ? 
Bow durst yon dae with ftrce think to withstand 
Your Prince's entry into this his land? 
A Prince, who is so excellently good. 
Bis Tirtoe is his honour, more than blood; 
In whose dear nature, as two snna^ do rise 
The attributes of merciful and wise ; 
Whoee laws are so impartial, they must 
t Be counted hearenly, 'cause they *re truly Jnsti 

Yet yon, wild fools, possess'd with giant rage^ 
Darsb in your lawless fury, think to wage 
War against Bearen ; and from his shining throne 
Pull Jove himsdf , for you to tread upon ; 
Were your heads cirded with his own green oak. 
Yet are th«y snhject to histhnnder-itroke ; 
And he can sink such wretches as rebel. 
From Bearen'S sublime height to the depth of Bell. 

let. Cloven, The derO he can as sooni We fear no colours ; let him do his worst ; there *s mnny a tall fellow, besides 
ns, will rather die than see his living taken from them, nay, even eat up : all things are grown so dear, there 1i no 
enduring more months than our own, neighbour. 

ind. Clown. They saj this Prince too would bring new laws upon ns ; new rites into the temples of our Oodsj and 

that *s abominable^ 

Winter A most fair pretence^ 

To found rebellion upon consdenoe 1 

arr»H>r€no2r. xht , 

IW wmpkm €f TWrnyMia fijrde and Asdzw Peukj^csT^e^ rvo *ci«n od cf -rctk, i<*orL*d. Mc 
nfhnr £itraMed tadttmtm, to «D off tkeir sux3L ior tIoi Uter ccvjd ccl iLere vsi^ time fSiDoci iar 
■ItiiiliniM ; amd. it voald BSKBaDr be pimiod «i h vas lifi woM. 

Fold BOW look A loi^ roii. At IokI ve bar aotbiaj: of bin till !€£&. viieB be pndaoad iLe 
* Lover ■ MclHi^olj/ acied 1» or. 24, and pnoied iht kiSkmisL^ jtar. la bir dnfirgiiii be bts^ 
^ Jf J pnnmptiaa of eoHuag m peiat m tbk kind, bat bhberu> been uic|cv«jUe : liif peoe haug 
tbe in* tbaft ev«r coated reader.* We maj iiLrir gnarfaiV. ibes^rf^wc; tbat wknem ^ranagjr ] 
' works bo bad jaiiiwij vritteB, alone or la ecaeert» bad ao€ l«eB fnased. Tboagb blaailff a : 
I meadw of tbe Middle TeBpk, W dttficttet - r* ay Hiri&iSy r«^^ ! 

I y«Aiii\»d;iS^9r«,Jfr.irevyBbii<,Jfr.£fi40f JE2^ 

/■A.* Tbk yam a fwpHmwit to bk roiilii Man EkeSj X. Fm^ uid ii^a F«rd, vii& are 
dfrignitfd eefmra^ vere bcacba^or oib<iiiM ^aa^friibrd by imaBf bflMOBa. 1^ tzut ct 
tbe piece «ao wfmiHglj neS'BEted bj Bmrum» 'AjDMiomj of Wrfi^aAeix,- tbea reaeBU7 yfc':fci*^>^. 
Fold bo ti oaed as fineeij froai tbat de C gb if al bock as S i e me — ■m boBeB^r, Jkr be ccsjc iifcie 
neitlier bope nor vkb of mnrfahnimt, bai not to so gooA pTpcoe Tbe pis; 
by com m i l al i t s rj mats by Geoege Donne laregalar 

^a nii^Hr a^^tflsnai^^^Ba ^a ^^^k n^^^^v ^■^^^B^ns^B^^^^^v Bk ^^^i^^b^v a^^v vMsa^h^^n^^n^aa «n a^^^^Bi^~ v^^h^^^^b^^^ma ^^^b^» ^^^^^nas^^ aflnn^h^* ^^^^ ''^ 4Ihw&^* ^>a i ^b 

WiUiam Sngleton, a nbtaon of Ymlntn'ii, Has. Ilovorsb, wbnK tnaae ban sS i 
of BO mmumg; sad 'o fdUs wbo nens io bsve 

la greit men's bonoep, yon 
like A vatcb-vocd, till tbe 
■endstoty rerHS tbat tbren^tbe 
coold not braab by vxtbont beedia^ 

Mamangtr wrote rapkCj and iii(<Miiith. So wonder. Ii waf k5s r^icaaas. A vcek'i V.od 
mi^t Lire tbrewa him oat cf e&p&?yac3ii f'Jt a j?ar. C^peradre wsshva iit'jtud. kdqp tbe SfcVttSA, 
bat tber tboold make no Saint Moodiji. Tbfr itiZKji coierre I2f* ;a^i«r'i rxje^ ne dtev «kik i't^oo. | 
Like poor backs on tbe road, wbDe warn in tbe Laraes we >:«- cs, ztzn t»sj l^^j ^^siac^ znr,. «ls£^ j 
with a certain sense of power, bazdlj cnasdz'st cf en:^ lEwraae cSten, sotf psec^duscd b7 acscsuB' ' 
btcd relocitT. Bat let u once ret coud, a&d ocr ; zizn* >df!l Ui* wi»Di^ srrsar «f wfa^rwas woias r;<« 
OS with compoond intere^ tbe vkI wbkb wai banflj 5±ih i^ iztt ten Vstrr^uss lerr^oe ix tbe r^j^jn^^vf^ 
and nothing abort of tbe actnal eantery <^ anta^^e IraL pofCJsr ^az sefi n» a. suioia w>"t F .fd 

Pabapsia ^s yacager isji. be ^d Var.k v. Ae iti^ far a iB;y^ga««jaA 


III rii f h'l !■ 1 . vffiktee fa 
S7&:«|jbt'% A ITS vljmST, 

a ^ir laficr tlsis KBS. Is m \: V 7«sLa.''«<e< *.*;at «J ^v ■•r, 4«ia4 | i w< i nf i w < k«m ^*- •^w 


to a scanty allowance. His share in the price of a play might paj for an eztn supper, (not a ten- 
pound sapper, howerer,) an excursion down the rirer, or a litUe extravagant charity. At least, his 
quality as dramatist gave him a free admission to the theatres, and entitled him to speak of 
Shakspeare, and Fletcher, and Burbage, and Lowin, as if he belonged to the set. Young templars 
to this day are proud of knowing actors and dramatic authors. Ford could not pique himself on the 
smiles of actresses, for in his day there were none. But when he had outgrown the vanities of his 
youth, and established himself in business, he ostentatiously disdained all view to profit in hia 
writings, and appeared on the stage or in print only «t irregular intervals. He had, and tdbk time, 
to write up to his own ideal. He disowned all courtship of the vulgar taste ; we might therefore 
suppose that the horrible stories which he haa embraced in '**Ti& Pity She's a Whore," "The 
Broken Heart,** and " Love's Sacrifice," were his own choice, and his own taste. But it would be 
unfiiir from hence to conclude that he delighted in the contemplation of vice and misery, aa vice 
and miseiy He delighted in the sensation of intellectual power, he found himself strong in the 
imagination of crime and of agony; his moral sense was gratified by indignation at the dark 
possibilities of sin, by compasuon for rare extremes of suffering. He abhorred vice — ^he admired 
virtue ; but ordinary vice or modem virtue were, to him, as light wine to a dram drinker. His 
genius was a telescope, ill-adapted for neighbouring objects, but powerful to bring within the sphere 
of vision, what nature has wisely placed at an unsociable distance. Passion must be incestuous or 
adulterous ; grief must be something more than martyrdom, before he could make them big enough 
to be seen. Unquestionably he displayed great power in these horrors, which was all he desired ; 
but had he been " of the first order of poeta," he would have found and displayed superior power 
in " fiimiliar matter of to-day," in &ilings to which all are liable, virtues which all may practise, 
and sorrows for which all may be the better. 

These three tragedies were printed in 1633. It is in the two former that Ford's tragic &me is 
founded. "Love's Sacrifice," is a most unsavoury offering, certainly not to Venus Urania, and 
contains little to atone for a disgusting story, clumsily plotted, and characters essentially vile. 

His next work was of a more pleasing description. It is indeed the best specimen of the historic 
drama to be found out of Shakspeare ; and, aa a compact consecutive representation of a portion of 
English history, excels King John or the two Parts of Henry lY. It has as much unity as the 
dramatic history admits or requires ; a clearly defined catastrophe, to which every incident contri- 
butes, and every scene advances. Ford showed great judgment in selecting a manageable episode of 
history, instead of a reign or a " life and death," which no one but Shakspeare could ever make 
practicable. With still finer tact, he represents Parkin Warbeck as a thorough believer in his own 
royalty. It is not necessary to suppose that he anticipated Horace Walpole or Malcolm Laing. 
Most likely he never asked himself who was the real Perkin Warbeck, but what sort of a Perkln was 
best suited for dramatic effect. A poet or dramatist is not required to setUe htstaric dimbii^. When 
Bums and Wordsworth tuned the complaints of the captive Mary, they did not consider whether the 
woman living in the 1 6th century, deserved captivity. " Perkin Warbeck " was printed in 1634. If 
we may judge from the unusual number of Commendatory Veraes (among which the name of the 
perpekial Qeorge Donne and John Ford of Oray's Inn, are conspicuous) it must have excited much 
attention. We may regret that Ford did not pursue the vein so prosperously opened, or repose 
under his hiurels; for his comedy, " The Fancies, Chaste and Noble," adds little to his reputation. 
And his tragi-comedy " The Lady's Trial," though not ill conceived, and in some parts, beautifully 
written, is abrapt in ita conclusion, and unsatisfiictory as a whole. The former was printed in 1638 ; 
the latter in 1639. 

From this time, we hear no more of Ford. Two yean elapsed and the dramatist's "oocupation 
was gone." Some suppose that our author died shortly after the api>oarance of " The Lady's Trial f 
but inquiries, too late to arrive at oertunty, have scented a fiunt tradition, that he withdrew to his 
native place, married, became a fiither, lived res)>ected, and died at a good old age. It has 
even been asserted that Sir Henry Ford, secretary for Ireland in the reign of Charles II. (at whose 
beath, in 1684, the line of Fords terminated,) was the poet's son or grandson. All this appears 
to me very dubious. John Fords were confessedly numerous in the neighbourhood. Curious people 



vho ask for fafoKmatkm horn 

iMMiof theTiOise iaa, aa^ It m raie 
little voider if Ford W mC 

between Ue 9inmeA yutaBtj tar 
fcetiirah^ the wim lililkM of the 

tkor Ui^a^ poirenL It it wA Ocif sftos the 
Boiidei^ the pvi^kMiB of Den Bocne ■!£&& W 
hov eoald it BitcrBii the jeoauuT ff Drr«^ thtt m 

itjr, or pcrhipe a 

§ ;a^ ij 



triemph% m a retiied dsve4nder m. x phzhaihrojee s^^n, if i&e BriC if hs 
peofed the! Ford enjopBd the fr«ite tf hii ii2«czs «b ha mcve pivad. mm 
hepfij; aa mdiitiagaihed cemtiT^ ratlf ie , he Mjgfa wbtk^ at * yimc a 

< -edonattle.* Miangcr fired sad &d im fcvertr. He 

' toareselariMeieaMa,hcUhiiheid Ufhashevwid; 


Oiiuj£s 1* 


free front 
fyne vhieh oo 

rtffeflVmn » 




Ka?. sir 


f TUi 






I. Tbb Foecbo Laot. T. Destroy^ by Mr. 
Warinuton'i lenrant. 

1 Tbb Noblb Choicb. C 

4. hllLBirxO AND HiPPOLITA. T. C. 

The mbore three ue entered on the Stm- 
ttonen* books, by H. Moeeley, Sc|>t. 9, 
\S53 ; b«t not printed. Destroyed by 
Mr. Warbnrton's senrant. 

5. Airroxio and Vallia. C. 

6. The Ttbant. T. 

7. Past and Wklcomx. C. 

The shore three are entered on the Sts* 
tioners' books, by H. Moseley, June 
29, 16A0 ; bat not printed. Destroyed 
by Mr. Wsrborton's serunt. 

i Tib Woman's Plot. C. Acted st Court 
1 62 1 . Destroyed by Mr. Wsrbnrton's ser- 

9. Tbb Old Law. C 

U. Tbb Vibgin-Mabttb. T. Acted by the 
Scrmnts ci his Msjesty's RereU. Qosrto, 
1622; qjurto, 1631; qnarto, 1C61. 

n. Tbb Unnattbal Combat. T. Acted at 
the Globe. Qoarto, 1639. 

11 Tbb Dtkb of Milan. T. Acted at Black. 
F-^ir«. Qnarto, 1623 ; qoarto, 1638. 

li. let BoxDM AY. T. C. .\cted I>ec 3. 1623 ; 
at the Cockpit, Dr^y Lauc, Qoarto, 1024 : 
quarto, 163>«<. 

14. Tea Rsnbcaoo. T. C. Acted April 17, 
1614. at the Cockpit, Drory Lane. Qoarto, 



15. Thb Pabliamrnt of Lots. C. Acted Nor. 

3, 1624, at the Cockpit, Dmry Lane. 

16. Tbb Spanish Vicbbot. C Acted fai 1624. 

Entered on the Stationers' books, SepC 9, 
1653, by H. Moseley; bat not printed. 
Destroyed by Mr. Warborton's senrant. 

17. Thb Roman Actob. T. Acted October II, 

1626, by the Kin^s Company. Qoarto, 

18. Thb Jcdob. Acted Jane 6, 1627, by the 

Kin^s Company. Lost. 

19. Thb Gbbat Dceb of Plobbncb* Acted 

July b, I6'27, at the Phoenix, Dmry Line. 
Qoarto, U>36. 

20. Thb Honolb of Wombn. Acted May 6, 

l*i2S. LosL 

21. Thb Maid or Honoub. T. C. Acted at 

the PboRiiz, Dniry Line. Date of its first 
appearance onoertain. Qoarto, 1632. 

22. Thb Pictubb. T. C Acted Jone 8, 1629, 

at the Globe. Qoarto 1030. 

23. Minebta's Sacbificb. T. Acted Nor. 3, 

1629, by the King's Company Entered on 
the Sutiooers' books, Sept. 9, 1653; bat 
not printed. Destroyed by Mr.Warbortim's 

24. Thk Empcbob of thb East. T. C. Acted 

March 11, 1631, at Black-Priars. Qoarto, 

25. Beliete as roc List. C. Acted May 7, 

1631. Entered on the SUtioorrs' books, 
Sept. 9, 1^>3, snd i*m Jone 29, 1660 ; 
but not printed. Destroyed by Mr. Wsr- 
barton's •cnraoL 




26. Thb Unportunatk Piett. T. Acted 

June 13, 1631, by the King's Company. 

27. The Fatal Dowry. T. Acted by the King's 

Company. Quarto, 1632. 

28. A Nbw Wat to pay Old Debts. C. 

Acted at the Fhoenir, Drory Lane. Quarto, 

29. Thb City Madait. C. Acted May 25. 

1632, by the King's Company. Quarto, 

30. Thb Guardian. C. Acted October 31, 

1633, by the King's Company. Octavo, 

31. Thb Tbaobdy op Clbandbr. Acted May 7, 

1634, by the King's Company. Lost 

32. A Very Woman. T. C. Acted Jane 6, 

1634, by the King's Company. Octavo, 

33. The Orator. Acted June 10, 1635, by the 

King's Company. Lost. 

34. The Bashpul Loteb. T. C. Acted May 9, 

1636, by the King's Company. Octavo, 

.35. The Kino and the Subject. Acted June 5 
1638, by the King's Company. Lost. 

36. Alexius, or the Chaste Lover. Acted 

Sept. 25, 1639, by the King's Company. 

37. The Fair Anchoress op Pausimfpo. 

Acted Jan. 26, 1640, by the King's Cook 
ipany. Lost 






I AX snapt alreadj, and maj go mj waj ; 

The poet-critic *8 come ; 1 hear him saj 

This youth 's miatook, the aathor's work's a plaj. 

He could not miss it, he will straight appear 
At snch a bait ; 'twas laid on porpose there^ 
To take the yermin, and 1 have him here. 

Sirrah ! jon will be nibbling ; a small bit, 
A syllable, when you're in the hungry fit. 
Will serve to stay the stomach of your wit. 

Fool, knave, what worse, for worse cannot deptave thrr ; 
And were the devil now instantly to have thee. 
Thou canst not instance such a work to save thee, 

'Afongst all the ballets which thou dost compose. 
And what thou stylest thy Poems, ill as those. 
And void of rhyme and reason, thy worse prose : 

Tet like a rude jack-sauce in poesy. 

With thoughts unblest, and hand unmannerly. 

Ravishing branches from Apollo's tree ; 

Thou mak'st a garland, for thy touch unfit. 

And boldly deck'st thypig-brain^d sconce with i!. 

As if it were the supreme head of wit : 

The blameless Muses blush ; who not allow 
That reverend order to each rulgar brow. 
Whose sinful touch profanes the holy bough. 

Hence, shallow prophet ! and admire the strain 
Of thine own pen, or thy poor cope-mate^s veia ; 
This piece too curious is for thy coarse brain. 

Ilere wit, more fortunate, is join'd with art. 
And that most sacred frenzy bears a part. 
Infused by nature in the Poet's heart. 

Here may the puny wits themselve<i direct. 
Here may the wisest find what to aff^ 
And kings may learn their proper di:iln^. 

On then, dear friend ! thy p<*n, thy name, «hall spread* 
And should^t thou write, while thou Ahalt m#t li« 
The Muse must labour, «hc-n thy hand i* dead. 



The printer*8 Iiasie calls on ; I must not drive 

My time pxst six, though J be^in at Ave. 

One hour I have entire, and 'tis enough ; 

Here arc no gipsy jigs, no drumming-stuff. 

Dances, or other trum{K'ry to delight, 

Or take, by common way, the common sight. 

The author of this poem, as he dares 

To stand the austerest censure, so he cares 

As little what it is ; his own best way 

Is, to be judge, and author of his play : 

It is his knowledge makes him thus secure ; 

Nor does he write to please, but to endure. 

And, reader, if you have disbursed a shilling, 

To see this worthy story, and are willing 

To have a large increase, if ruled by mo. 

You may a merchant and a poet be. 

Tis granted for your twelve-pence you did sit. 

And see, and hear, and understand not yet. 

The author, in a Christian pity, takes 

Care of your good, and prints it for your sakcs ; 

That such as will but venture six])ence more. 

May know what they but saw and heard before : 

rTwill not be money lost, if you can read, 

(There's all the doubt now,) but your gains exceed^ 

If you can understand, and you are made 

Free of the freest and the noblest trade ; 

And in the way of poetry, now-a-days, 

Of all that are call'd works, the best are plays. 


Dabblers in poetry, that only can 
Court this weak lady, or tliat gontleman. 
With some loose wit in rhyme ; 
Others that fright the time 
Into belief, with mighty words that tear 
A passage through the ear ; 
Or nicer men. 
That through a pers|)ective will see a play, 
And use it the wrong way, 
(Not worth thy pen,) 
Thougli all their pride exalt them, cannot be 
Competent judges of thy lines or thee. 

I must confess I have no public name 
To rescue judgment, no poetic flame 
To dress thy Muse with praise, 
And Ph(Bbus his own bays ; 
Tet I commend this poem, and dare tell 
The world I liked it well ; 
And if there be 
A tribe who in their wisdoms dare accuse 
Thb offspring of thy Muse, 
Let them agree 
Conspire one comedy, and they will say, 
Tit easier to commend, than make a play. 





The boeom of a friend cannot breathe forth 

A flattering phrase to speak the noble worth 

Of him that hath lodged in his honest breast 

So large a title : I, among the rest 

That honoor thee, do onlj seem to praise. 

Wanting the flowers of art to deck that bajs 

Merit has crown'd thj temples with. Know, friend. 

Though there are some who mereljr do commend 

To live i' the world's opinion, snch as can 

Censure with judgment, no such piece of man 

Makes up mj spirit : where desert does live. 

There wdl I plant mj wonder, and there give 

My best endeavours to build up his story 

That truly merits. I did ever glory 

To behold virtue rich ; though cruel Fate 

In scornful malice does beat low their state 

That best deserve ; when others, that but know 

Only to scribUe, and no mcnv, aii grow 

Great in their &vours, that would seem to be 

Patrons of wit, and modest poesy : 

Yet, with your abler frioids, let me say this. 

Many may strive to equal yon, but miss 

Of your fair scope ; this work of yours men may 

Throw in the face of envy, and then say 

To those, that are in great men's thoogfats more biest. 

Imitate this, and call that work your best. 

Yet wise men, in this, and too often, err, 

"When they their love before the work prefer. 

If 1 should say more, some may blame me foi^t. 

Seeing your merits speak you, not report. 



I am no great admirer of the plays, 

Poets, or actors, that are BOw>»Hlays ; 

Yet, in this woric c€ thine, methinks 1 see 

Sufficient reason far idolatry. 

Each line thou hast taught Caesar is as high 

As he could speak, when groveling flattery. 

And his own pride (forgetting heaven's r*Mi) 

By his edicts styled himself great Lord and God. 

By thee, again the laurel crowns his head, 

And, thus revived, who can affirm him d^fad I 

Snch power lies in this lofty ftrain as can 

Give swords and legions to Domitiaa : 

And when thy Parts pleads in the defence 

Of actors, every grace and excellence 

Of argument for that subject, are by thee 

Contracted in a sweet epitome. 

Nor do thy woa»eo the tired bearers vex 

With language bo way proper to their sex. 

Just like a cunning painter thfMj let'st fall 

Cofnes more fair than the onpnad. 

Ill add but thi« : from all the m' ''«*m f'fays 

The stage hath lately bom, this wins the bays ; 

And if it onse t» trial, boldly look 

To carry it dear, thy witAess being thy book. 




Ecce PhilippinsB celebrata Tragoadia Musod, 

Quam Roseus Britonom Roscius egit, adest. 
Semper fronde ambo vireant Paruasside, semper 

Liber ab invidise dentibus esto, liber. 
Crebra papyrivori spemas incendia paDti, 

Thus, va)nura expositi tegmiiia siita libri : 
Nee metuas raucos, Momorura sibila, rlioncos, 

Tam bardus nebulo si tamen ullus erit. 
Nam tpties festis, actum, placuisse tlieatris 

Quod liquet, hoc, cusum, crcde, placebit, opus. 

Tiio. oorr. 



Paris, the best of actors in his agr- 

Acts yet, and speaks upon our Ra/nan frtage 

Such lines by thee, as do not derogato 

From Rome's proud heights, and her then learned state. 

Nor great Domitian's favour ; nor the embraces 

Of a fair empress, nor those often graces 

Which from th' applauding theatres were paid 

To his brave action, nor his ashes laid 

In the Flaminian way, where people strowM 

Ilis grave with flowers, and Martial's wit bestow*d 

A lasting epitaph ; not all these same 

Do add 80 much renown to Paris' name 

As this, that thou present'st his history 

80 well to us : for which, in thanks, would ho, 

(If that his soul, as thought Pythagoras, 

Could into any of our actors pass,) 

Life to these lines by action gladly grive. 

Whose pen so well has made his story live. 



To write is grown so common in our time. 
That every one who can but frame a rhyme. 
However monstrous, gives himself that praise, 
Which only he should claim, that may wear bays 
By their applause^ whose judgmentsapprchend 
The weight and truth of what they dare commend. 
In this besotted age, fnend^'tis thy glory 
That here thou hast outdone the Roman stoiy. 
Domitian's pride, his wife's lust, unabated 
In death, with Paris, merely were related. 
Without a soul, until thy abler pen 
Spoke them, and made them speak, nay act a;;nin 
In such a height, that here to know their deedN 
He may become an actor that but reads. 





Long'st thou to see proud <*fesar set in states 
His morning greatuMM, or his evening £ite^ 
With admiration here behold him fail. 
And yet outlive his tragic funeral : 
For 'tis a question whether Cesar's glorj 
Rose to its height before, or in this storjr ; 
Or whether Paris, in Domitian's favour. 
Were more exalted, than in this thjr labour. 
Each line speaks him an emperor, every phras« 
Crowns thy deserving temples with the bays ; 
80 that reciprocally both agree, 
Thou liv*Bt in him, and he survives in thee. 




If that my lines, being placed before thy book. 
Could make it sell, or alter but a look 
Of some sour censurer, who 's apt to say, 
No one in these times can produce a play 
Worthy his reading, since of late, 'tis true^ 
The old accepted are more than the row : 
Or, could I on some spot o' the court work ao^ 
To make him speak no more than he doth know ; 
Not borrowing from his flatt'ring flattered firiend 
What to dispraise, or wherefore to commend : 
Then, gentle friend, I chould not blush to be 
Rank'd 'mongst thoce worthy ones which here I see 
Ushering this work ; but why I write to thee 
Is, to profess our love's antiquity, 
Which to this tragedy must give my test, 
1*hou hast made many good, but this thy best. 




Enjoy thy laurel ! His a noble choice. 

Not by thj sufi*rag<*s of voi<*e 
rnnrured, b* it by a conquest so achieved. 

As that thou hast at full relieved 
Almost neghHrted poetry, whose bays, 

SuIti«Hl by childish thirst of praise, 
Wither'd into a dullness of despair. 

Had not thy later labour (heir 
Unto a former industry) made known 

This work, which thou mayst call thise own. 
Ho rich in wortli, that th' ignorant may grudge 
To find true virtue is become their judge. 





Action gives many poems right to live ; 
This piece gave life to action ; and will give, 
For state and language, in each change of age, 
To time delight, and honour to the stage. 
Should Inte prescription fail which fames that scat. 
This pen might style the Duke of Florence Great. 
Let many write, let much be printed, read. 
And censured ; toys, no sooner hatch'd than dead : 
Here, without blush to truth of commendation. 
Is proved, how art huth outgone imitation. 



Was not thy Emperor enough before 
' For thee to give, that thou dost give us more ! 

I would be just, but cannot : that I know 
I did not slander, tliis I fear I do. 
But ]>ardon me, if I offend ; thy fire 
Let equal poets praise, while I admire. 
If any say that I enough Iiave writ. 
They are thy foes, and envy at thy wit. 
Believe not them, nor me ; they know thy lines 
Deserve applause, but spesLk against their minds. 
I, out of justice, would commend thy play. 
But (friend, forgive me) 'tis above my way. 
One word, and I have done, (and from my heart 
Would I could speak the whole truth, not the part. 
Because 'tis thine,) it henceforth will be said. 
Not the Maid of Honour, but the Honour'd Maid. 




Methinks I hear some busy critic say. 
Who 's this that singly usiiers in this play ? 
'Tis boldness, I confess, and yet perchance 
It may be construed love, not arrogance. 
I do not here upon this leaf intrude, 
By praising one to wrong a multitude. 
Nor do I think, that all are tied to be 
(Forced by my vote) in the same creed with me. 
Each man hath liberty to judge ; free will. 
At his own pleasure, to speak good or ilL 
But yet your Muse already 's known so well 
Her worth will hardly find an infidel. 
Here she hath drawn a Picture, which shall lie 
Safe for all future times to practise by ; 
Whate'er shall foUow are but copies, some 
Preceding works were types of this to come. 
Tit your own lively image, and sets forth. 
When we are dost, the l^uty of your worth. 
He that sliall duly read, and not advance 
Anght that is here, betrays his ignorance : 
Tet whosoever beyond desert commends^ 
Errs more by much than he that reprehends ; 


For pniae misplaced, and honour set npon 

A worthleas subject, is detraction. 

I cannot sin so here, unless I went 

About to stjle jou -onlT excellent. 

Apollo's giAs are not confined alone 

To your dispose, he hath more heirs than one. 

And such as do deriTe from his blest hand 

A large inheritance in the poets' land. 

As well as you ; nor are you, 1 assure 

Myself, so enrious, but you can endure 

To hear their praise, whose worth long since was Ickuwb, 

And justly too preferred before your own. 

I know you'd take it for an injury, 

(And 'tis a well-becoming modesty,) 

To be parallel'd with Beaumont, or to hear 

Your name by some too partial friend writ near 

Vnequaird Jonson ; being men «huse fire. 

At distance, and with reverence, yon admire. 

Ho so, and you shall find your gain will be 

Much more, by yielding them priority. 

Than, with a certainty of luss, to hold 

A foolish competition : 'tis too bold 

A task, and to be shunn'd : nor diall my praise. 

With t«io much weight, ruin what it would raise. 




Suffer, my friend, these lines to have the gra^ 

That they may be a mole on VeBos* face. 

There is no fault about thy book bat this. 

And it will show how fmir thy EJnperor is, i 

Thou more than poet ! our Mercury, that an I 

I Apollo's mesen^r, and dost imf«rt 

! His best expressi'^ns to o^r ^ar% lire long 

j To jHirify the sl:^ht«»l E:i«-i:ah u^nz^% 

' That boib tlie nvmih* of T^/us aiid of Po j 

^lay not h**nc>erur:?j •l'=-*p:^ our Ii22'i4^ *-x 

Nor could they do it, if they e'er Lad seen 

The matchless feat .xres of the Farrj <^*en . 

Read Jon«on, r^.a-fsp^are, Brarsmo*:, Fltuhfr. ot 

Thy neat-limn'd pieces. *a:;::ii MajMisjrer. 

Thou known, all the C.d^ti.UiXu :r.z:ii cMsfr^ 

Vego de Carpio thy f.Al, atd bl^** 

His language can tra:.-la:*r th«r. 4.'.i ti.* £-i*r 

Italian ^i'a yi#rM 'o ::,:♦ »..rk c* •.>:ir-'?. 

Were old Pytkai-^ra^ i...\*c a^**3. 

fn thee he might hud reaM>n i/i ziaintara 

His paradox, that soals by *ruLwsi^^r^ts//a 

In dirers bodies make to^rir Lai>>.a£;oa : 

And more, than all po^:c ^oals yet ka^/w-;. 

Are met in thee, c^niract^d isro v;i^. 

This is a truth. nc< an applacae : I am « 

One that at fonLt&i dli--A-- * -.>wf t^j f*^", | 

Yet may prono-j-c>r. that, w*-re \y^* o*:**^ ; 

In thee his poesy m'r^.: ail h^ r^aui. 

Forbear thy mvi^^'ty : thy Enap^ror's resn 

Sh:*^l I'Te admirei, "■r*-a po«ir*-* ir.*.; o^spla^ 

It Is a ptk^Urrz; vf l«^^ .«jjf :« a rr&A/Lh, 

And what great FLath^i.^ m'^.*. 'h^r M^bms UrM,'m^ 

Let it Lre, th*T^f'/r», arj'i f d*^* ^#> v^ld 

To say, it with the world tuJ iv. ^''"^ '/'d. 




Who with a liberal hand freely bestows 

His bounty on all comers, and yet knows 

No ebb, nor formal limits, but proceeds, 

Continuing his hospitable deeds. 

With daily welcome shall advance his name 

Beyond the art of flattery ; with such fame, 

May yours, dear friend, compare. Your Muse hath l>et*a 

Most bountiful, and I hare often seen 

llie willing seats receive such as have fed, 

And risen thankful ; yet were some misled 

By kicety; when this fair banquet came, 

(So I allude) their stomachs were to blame. 

Because that excellent, sharp, and poignant sauce. 

Was wanting, they arose without due grace, 

Lo ! thus a second time he doth invite you : 

Be your own carvers, and it may delight you. 




I take not upon trust, nor am I led 
By an implicit faith : what I have read 
With an impartial censure I dare crown 
With a deserved applause, howe'er cried down 
By such wliose malice will not let them bo 
Equal to any piece linm*d forth by thee. 
Contemn their poor detraction, and still write 
Poems like this, that can .endure the light. 
And search of abler judgments. This will raiMe 
Thy name ; the others' scandal is thy praise. 
This, oft perused by grave wits, shall live loii;^ 
Not die as soon as past the actor*s tongue. 
The fate of slighter toys ; and I must say, 
Tis not enough to make a passing play 
In a true poet : works that should endure 
Must have a genius in them strong as pure. 
And such is thine, friend : nor shall time devooi 
The well-form*d features of thy Emporor. 




"Tis a rare charity, and thou couldst not 

80 proper to the time have found a plot : 

Yet whilst you teach to pay, you lend ; the age 

We wretches live in, that to come tlie stage, 

The thronged audience that was thither brou.:!it, 

Invited by your fame, and to be taught 

This lesson ; all are grown indebted more, 

And when they look for freedom, ran in .scor.-. 

It was a cruel courtesy to call 

In hope of liberty, and then, inthrall. 

The nobles are your bondmen, gentry, and 

All besides those that did not understand. 



Thej were no mcD of credit, bankmpU bom. 
Fit to be trusted with no stock but scorn. 
You have more wisely credited to such. 
That though thej cannot pay, can value much. 
I am your debtor too, but, to my shame. 
Repay you nothing back but your own fame. 




You may remember how you chid me, when 

I rank'd you equal with those glorious men, 

Beaumont and Fletcher : if you love not praise. 

You must forbear the publishing of plays. 

The crafty mazes of the cunning plot. 

The polish'd phrase, the sweet expressions, got 

Neither by theft nor violence ; the conceit 

Fresh and unsullied ; all is of weight, 

Able to make the captive reader know 

I did but justice when I placed you so. 

A shame-faced blushing would become the brow 

Of some weak virgin writer ; we allow 

To you a kind of pride, and there where most 

Should blush at commendations, yon should boMt. 

If any think I flatter, let him look 

Off from my idle trifles on thy book. 







Kino or PbfrriTs. 

KiiM or Kpirk. 

Kim or MACKtfon, 

SAfmmrv, Oovtmor <^ (ketarea, 

TBBorHiLVM. a uaiotu Persecutor 0/ the Chrit- 

Bmruawnt Captain t\f Sapritiub' guards, 
AiiTDKtinis. Son to ISapritivs. 
JfACMiriA, Friend to Antominub. 
Hajimz, on evil Spfnt, following THcoraiLO* 

te ike tkape of o Seeretarp. 
AsasLO, a pood Spirit, eerving Dmothba in the 

AflM 4^ a Pmg€. 

IIiRCfus, a WhoremasteTt )Servan(iOf 
SpuNOiua, a Drunkard, ) DnitOTNftA. 


Qjpj.^ > Servants of Thkophu^is, 

Priest of Jupiter. 
British Slave. 

Artcmia, Daughter to Diocluian. 
CALiirrA, ) _ ^^ . _ 
Chkistbta. f ^««P*<«»-' io Th.ophih/8. 


Officers ami Executioners. 



SCENE h^The Governor's Palace. 

Enter Tnbophilcs and Harpax. 

Theoph, Come to Caesarea to>night I 

Harp. Most true, sir. 

Theoph, The emperor in person ! 

Jfarp. Do I live ? 

Theoph. 'Tis wondrooa strange ! The inarches 
of girat princes, 
Like to the motions of prodigious meteors, 
Aie step by ^tep observ'd; and load-tongiied 

The harbinger to prepare their entertainment : 
Aud, were it po8^ible so great an army, 
Though coTcr d with the night, could be so near, 
T\ir gOTeiDor cannot be so unfriended 
Among the many that attend his person, 
har, by some secret means, he should have notice 
Of C»sar*i purpose ; — in this, then, excuse me, 
If 1 sppcar incredaloos. • 

Harp. At jonr pleasure. 

Theoph. Yet, when I caU to mind you never 
faird me 
In things more diflScolt, bnt have discover 'd 
Deeds that were done thousand leagues distant 

from m€y 
When neither woods, nor caves, nor secret vaults. 
No* nor the Power they serve, could keep these 

Or from my reach or punishment but thy ma^^ic 
Still laid them open ; 1 becin again 
1*0 be as confident as heretofore. 
Iff is not possible thy powerful Jut 
SlKmld meet a coeck, or fail. 

Enter the Priest of Jupitor, bearing an Iwaget and 
followed bp Calista and Christrta. 

Harp. Look on the Vestals, 
The holy pledges that the gods have given you. 
Your chaste, ftiir daughters. Were't not to up- 
A service to a master not unthankful, [braid 

I could say these, in spite of your prevention. 
Seduced by an imagined faith, not reason, 
(Which is the strength of nature,) quite forsakini; 
The Gentile gods, had yielded up themselves 
To this new-found religion. This I cruss'd, 
Discover'd their intents, taught you to use, 
With gentle words and mild persuaiiions. 
The power and the authority of a father. 
Set off with cruel threats ; and so reclaimed them : 
And, whereas they with torment should have died, 
(Heirs furies to me, had they undergone it !) 

[A title. 
They are now votaries in great Jupiter's temple. 
And, by his priest instructed, grown familiar 
W^ith all the mysteries, nay, the most abs-truse 
Belonging to his deity. [ones, 

Theoph. 'Twas a benefit. 
For which I ever owe you. — Hail, Jove's flanien ! 
Have these my daughters reconciled themselves. 
Abandoning for ever the Christian way, 
To your opinion ? 

Priest. And are constant in it. 
They teach their teachers with their deptli af 

And are with arguments able to convert 
The enemies to our gods, and answer all 
They can object against us. 

Theoph. My dear daughters I 




Col, We dare dbpiite agaiost this new-sprrng 
In private or in public. [8*'c», 

Harp. My best lady, 
Persever in it. 

Chris. And what we maintain, 
We will seal with our bloods. 

Harp. Rrave resolution! 
I e'en grow fat to see my labonrs prosper. 

Theoph. I young again. To your devotions. 

Harp. Do — 
My prayers be present with yon. 

lExeuni Priest, Cal. and Cbrts. 

Theoph. O my Harpaz ! 
Thou engine of my wishes, thon that steeKst 
My bloody resolutions, thou that arm'st 
My eyes 'gainst womanisth tears and soft compas- 
I Detracting me, without a sigh, to look on [sion, 
Babes torn by violence from their mothers' breasts 
To feed the fire, and with them make one flame ; 
Old men, as beasts, in beasts' skins torn by dogs ; 
Virgins and matrons tire the executioners ; 
Yet I, unsatisfied, think their torments easy — 

Harp. And in that, just, not croeL 

Theoph. Were all sceptres 
That grace the hands of kings, made into one, 
And offer'd me, all crowns laid at my feet, 
I would contemn them all, — thus spit at them ; 
So I to all posterities might be call'd 
The strongest champion of the Pagan gods, 
And rooter out of Christians. 

Harp. Oh, mine own. 
Mine own dear lord ! to further this great work, 
1 ever live thy slave. 

Enter Bapiutiub and SsMPsoirnTs. 

Theoph. No more — ^The governor. 

Sap. Keep the ports close, and let the guards 
be doubled ; 
Disarm the Christians ; call it death in any 
To wear a sword, or in his house to have one. 

Semp. I shall be careful, sir. 

Sap. 'Twill well become you. 
Such as refuse to offer sacrifice 
To any of our gods, put to the torture. 
Grub up this growing mischief by the roots ; 
And know, when we are merciful to theui, 
\\'e to ourselves are crueL 

Semp. You i>our oil 
On (ire that burns already at the height •■ 
1 know the emperor's edict, and my charge, 
And they shall find no favour. 

Theoph. My good lord. 
This care is timely for the entertiinment 
Of our great master, who this night in person 
Comes here to thank you. 

Sap. Who ! the emperor } 

Harp, To clear your doubts, he doth return in 
Kings lackeying by his triumphant chariot ; 
And in this glorious victory, my lord. 
You have an ample share : for know, your son. 
The ne*er enough commended Antoninus, 
So well hath flesh'd his maiden sword, and died 
His snowy plumes so deep in enemies' blood. 
That, besides public grace beyond his hopes. 
There are rewards propounded. 

Sap. I would know 
No mean in thine, could this be true* 

Harp. My head 
Answer the forfeit. 

Sap. Of his victory 
Tliere was some rumour : but it was assured. 
The army pass'd a fiill day's journey higher. 
Into the country. 

Harp. It was so determined ; 
But, for the further honour of your son, 
And to observe the government of the city, 
And with what rigour, or remiss indulgence. 
The Christians are pursued, he makes his stay here : 


For proof, his trumpets speak hh near arrival. 

Sap. Haste, good Sempronius, draw up out 
And with all ceremonious pomp receive 
The conquering army. Let our garrison speak 
Their welcome in loud shouts, the dty shew 
Her state and wealth. 

Semp. I'm gone. [Ej/'I. 

Sap. O, I am ravish'd 
With this great honour! cherish, good Theophilus, 
This knowing scholar. Send [for] your fair daogh- 
I will present them to the emperor, [ters ; 

And in their sweet conversion, at a mirror. 
Express your seal and duty. 

Theoph. Fetch them, good Harpaz. 


Enter SavPROirirB, at the head (iftke guard, toidi^rt lead- 
imp three Kings bound i AjrroNiirra and Macmnub htar- 
ing the Emperor'n eaglet ; Dioclssiaw tn'M a gilt iaurel 
on kit head, leading in Artkmia : SAPRmva kititet the 
Kmpemr's hand, then embrace* hi* Son ; fiAR^Ax ttringe 
in Causta and Cbjuststa. Loud thoutt. 

Diccle. So : at all parts I find Caesarea 
Completely govern'd : the licentious soldier 
Confined in modest limits, and the people 
Taught to obey, and not compell'd with rigour : 
The ancient Bioman ^Uscipline revived, 
Which raised Rome to her greatness, and pro- 

claim'd her 
The glorious mistress of the conquer'd world ; 
But, above all, the service of the gods 
So zealously observed, that, good Sapritius, 
In words to thank you for your care and duty. 
Were much unworthy Diqclesian's honour. 
Or his magnificence to his loyal servants. — 
But I shall find a time with noble titles 
To recompense your merits. 

Sap. Mightiest Casar, 
Whose power upon this globe of earth is equal 
To Jove's in heaven ; whose victorious triumphs 
On proud rebellious kings that stir against it. 
Are perfect figures of his immortal trophies 
Won in the Giants' war ; whose conquering sword. 
Guided by his strong arm, as deadly kills 
As did His thunder ! all that I have done, 
Or, if my strength were centupled, could do. 
Comes short of what my loyalty must challenge. 
But, if in anything I have deserved 
Great Cssar's smile, 'tis in my humble care 
Still to preserve the honour of those gods. 
That make him ^hat he is : my zeal to them 
I ever have express'd in my fell hate 
Against the Christian sect that, with one blow, 
(Ascribing all things to an unknown Power, ) 
Would strike down all their temples, and allows 
Nor sacrifice nor altars. [them 

Diocle. Thou, in this, 
Walk'st hand in hand with me : my will and power 
Shall not alone confirm, but honour all 
That are in Uiis most forward. 



Smp, Sacred Cxsar, 
If your iiuperial majesty stand pleased 
To shower your fiivoars upon such as are 
The boldest champions of oar religion ; 
Look on this reverend man, [poinit to Thbophi- 

LU8] to whom the power 
Of searching oat, and punishing such delinquents, 
Was by your choice committed : and, for proof. 
He hath desenr'd the grace imposed upon him,- 
And with a fair and even hand proceeded, 
Partial to none, not to himself, or thuse 
Of equal nearness to himself ; behold 
This pair of virgins. 

IH^eie. What are these ? 

Smp, H» daughters. 

Arlem, Now by your sacred fortune, they are 
fair ones, 
Exceeding fair ones : would 'twere in my power 
To make them mine 1 

Theoph. They are the gods', great lady. 
They were most happy in your service else : 
On these, when they fell from their father's faith, 
I used a judge's power, entreaties failing 
(They being seduced) to win them to adore 
The hfrfy Powers we worship ; I put on 
The scarlet robe of bold authority. 
And, as they had been strangers to my blood, 
Presented them in the most horrid form, 
All kind of tortures ; part of which they suffer'd 
With Roman constancy. 

ArUm, And could you endure. 
Being a fiither, to behold their limbs 
Extended on the rack ? 

Theoph. I did ; but must 
Confess there was a strange contention in me, 
Between the impartial office of a judge. 
And pity of a father ; to help justice 
Rrligion stept in, under which odds 
CompascioD fell : — yet still I was a father. 
For e*en then, when the flinty hangman's whips 
Wrre worn with stripes spent on their tender limbs, 
I koeel*d, and wept, and b^g'd them, though they 

Be cruel to theroselTcs, they would take pity 
On my gray hairs ; now note a sudden change, 
Which 1 with joy remember ; those, whom torture, 
Nur fear of death could terrify, were overcome 
Hy seeing of my sufferings ; and so won. 
Returning to the faith that they were bom in, 
I gave them to the gods. And be assured, 
1 that used justice with a rigorous hand, 
Upon such beauteous virgins, and mine own, 
Will use no favour, where the cause commands me, 
To any other ; but, as rocks, be deaf 
To all entteaties. 

DwcU. Thou desenr'st thy place ; 
Still hiild it, and with honour. Things thus order'd 
Touching the gods, 'tis lawful to descend 
To human cares, and exercise that power 
Heaven has conferr'd upon me ; — which that you, 
Rebels and traitors to the power of Rome, 
Should not with all extremities undergo. 
What can you urge to qualify your crimes. 
Or mitigate my anger ? 

K. of Epire, We are now 
Slaves to thy power, that yesterday were kings, 
And had command o'er others ; we confess 
Otir gracdsires paid yours tribute, yet left us. 
As their forrfathers had^ desire of freedom. 
had, if yon Romans bold it glorious honour, 


Not only to defend what is your own. 

But to enlarge your empire, (though our fortune 

Denies that happiness,) who can accuse 

The famish'd mouth, if it attempt to feed ? 

Or such, whose fetters eat into their freedoms, 

If they desire to shake them off? 

K, of Pontus, We stand 
The last examples, to prove how uncertain 
All human happiness is ; and are prepared 
To endure the worst. 

K, of Alacedon. That spoke, which now is 
In Fortune's wheel, must, when she turns it next, 
Decline as low as we are. This considered. 
Taught the i^gyptian Hercules. Sesostris, 
That had his chariot drawn by captive kings, 
'1 o free them from that slavery ; — but to hope 
Such mercy from a Roman, were mere madness : 
We are familiar M^-ith what cruelty 
Rome, since her infant greatness, ever used 
Such as she triumphed over; age nor sex 
Exempted from her tyranny ; scepter'd princes 
Kept in her common dungeons, and their children. 
In scorn train'd up in base mechanic arts. 
For public bondmen. In the catalogue 
Of those unfortunate men, we expect to have 
Our names remember'd. 

Diode. In all growing empires. 
Even cruelty is useful ; some must suffer. 
And be set up examples to strike terror 
In others, though tar off : but, when a state 
Is raised to her perfection, and her bases 
Too firm to shrink, or yield, we may use mercy. 
And do't with safety : but to whom ? not cowanls. 
Or such whose baseness shames the conqueror, 
And robs him of his victory, as weak Perseus 
Did great iEmilius. Know, therefore, kings 
Of Epire, Pontus, and of Macedon, 
That I with courtesy can use my prisoners. 
As well as make them mine by force, provided 
That they are noble enemies : such I found you, 
Before I made you mine ; and, since you were so, 
You have not lost the courages of princes. 
Although the fortune. Had you born yourselves 
Dejectedly, and base, no slavery 
Had been too easy for you : but such is 
The power of noble valour, that we love it 
Even in our enemies, and taken with it. 
Desire to make them friends, as I will you. 

K. of Epire. Mock us not, Ceesar. 

Diocie. By the gods, I do not. 
Unloose their bonds : — I now as friends embrnco 
Give them their crowns again. [y^u. 

JST. of Pontui, We are twice o'crcome ; 
By courage, and by courtesy. 

K. of Macedon, But this latter. 
Shall teach us to live ever faithful vassals 
To Diocrlesian, and the power of Rome. 

K. of Epire. All kingdoms fall before her ! 

K. of Pontiis. And all kings 
Contend to honour Caesar 1 

Diocie. I believe 
Your tongues are the true trumpets of your hearts, 
And in it I most happy. Queen of fate. 
Imperious Fortune ! mix some light disaster 
With my so many joys, to season them, 
And give them sweeter relish : I'm girt round 
With true felicity ; faithful subjects here, 
Here bo!d commanders, here with new^mnd* 
friends : 


Anr I, 

But, what's the crown of all, in thee, Artemia, 
My only child, whose love to me and duty, 
Strive to exceed each other ! 

Artem, I make payment 
Bat of a debt, which I stand bound to tender 
As a daughter and a subject. 

Diocle. Which requires yet 
A retribution from me, Artemia, 
Tied by a father's care, how to bestow 
A jewel, of all things to me most precious ; 
Nor will I therefore longer keep thee from 
The chief joys of creation, marriagis rites ; 
Which that thou may'st with greater pleasures 

taste of. 
Thou shalt not like with mine eyes, but thine own. 
Among these kings, forgetting they were captives ; 
Or those, remembering not they are my subjects, 
Make choice of any : By Jove's dread^l thunder, 
My will shall rank with thine. 

Artem, It is a bounty 
*The daughters of great princes seldom meet with ; 
For they, to make up breaches in the state. 
Or for some other public ends, are forced 
To match where they affect not May my life 
Deserve this favour ! 

Dioele, Speak ; I long to know 
The man thou wilt make happy. 

Artem. If that titles, 
Or the adored name of Queen could take me. 
Here would I fix mine eyes, and look no further ; 
But these are baits to take a mean -bom lady, 
Not her, that boldly may call Casar father : 
In that I can bring honour unto any. 
But from no king that lives receive addition : 
To raise desert and virtue by my fortune. 
Though in a low estate, were greater glury. 
Than to mix greatness with a prince that owes 
No worth but that name only. 

Diocle. I commend thee ; 
'Tis like myself. 

Artem. If, then, of men beneath me. 
My choice is to be made, where shall I seek. 
But among those that best desf rve from you ? 
That have served you most faithfully ; that in dan- 
Have stood next to yon ; that have interposed 
Pheir breasts as shields of proof, to dull the swords 
Aim'd at your bo^ro ; that have spent their blood 
To crown your brows with laurel ? 

Macr. Cytherea, 
Great Queen of Love, be now propitious to me ! 

Harp, [to Sap.] Now mark what I foretold. 

Anton. Her eye s on me. 
Fair Venus' son, draw forth a leaden dart. 
And, that she may hate me, transfix her with it ; 
Or, if thou needs wilt use a golden one, 
Shoot it in the behalf of any other : 
Thou know'st I am thy votary elsewhere. IJtide. 

Artem. [advaneet to Anton.] Sir. 

Theoph. How he blushes I 

Sap, Welcome, fool, thy fortune. 
Stand like a block when such an angel courts thee ! 

Artem. I am no object to divert your eye 
From the beholding. 

Anton, Rather a bright sun. 
Too glorious for faim to gaze upon, 
That took not first flight from the eagle's aerie. 
As I look on the temples, or the gods. 
And with that reverence, lady, 1 behold you, 
And ahall do ever. 

Artem. And it will become vcu, 
While thus we stand at distance : bnt, if love. 
Love born out of the assurance of yuur virtues. 
Teach me to stoop so low — ' 

Anton, O, rather take 
A higher flight. 

Artem. Why, fear you to be raised ? 
Say I put ofl* the dreadful awe that waits 
On majesty, or with you share my beams, 
Nay, make you to outshine me ; change the name 
Of Subject into Lord, rob you of service 
That's due from you to me; and in me make it 
Duty to honour you, would you refuse me ? 

Anion. Refuse you, madam ! such a worm at I 
Refuse what kings upon their knees would sue for ! 
Call it, great lady, by another name ; 
An bumble modesty, that would not match 
A molehill with Olympus. 

Artem. He that's famous 
For honourable actions in the war, 
As you are, Antoninus, a proved soldier. 
Is fellow to a king. 

Anton. If you love valour. 
As 'tis a kingly virtue, seek it out. 
And cherish it in a king ; there it shines brightest. 
And yields the bravest lustre. Look on Epire, 
A prince, in whom it is incorporate : 
And let it not disgrace him that he was 
O'erconie by Caesar; it was victory. 
To stand so long against him : bad you seen him. 
How in one bloody scene he did discharge 
The parts of a commander and a soldier. 
Wise in direction, bold in execution ; 
You would have said. Great Caesar's self excepted. 
The world yields not his equal. 

Artem. Yet I have heard, 
Encountering him alone in the head of his troop. 
Yon took him prisoner. 

K. of Epire. 'Tis a truth, great princess ; 
ril not detract from valour. 

Anton. 'Twas mere fortune ; 
Cournge bad no hand in it. 

Theoph. Did ever man 
Strive so against his own good? 

Sap. Spiritless villain ! 
How I am tortured ! By the immortal gods. 
I now could kill him. 

Diocle. Hold, Sapritius, hold, 
On onr displea^nre hold ! 

Harp. Why, this would make 
A father mad ; 'tis not to be endured ; 
Your honour's tainted in't. 

Sap. By heaven, it is : 
I shall think of it. 

Harp. 'Tis not to be forgotten. 

Artem, Nay, kneel not, sir, I am no ravisher^ 
Nor so tar gone in fond affection to you. 
But that I can retire, my honour safe : — 
Yet say, hereafter, that thou hast neglected 
What, but seen in possession of another, 
Will make thee mad with envy« 

Anton. In her looks 
Revenge is written. 

Mac. As you love your life. 
.Study to appease her, 

Anton, Gracious madam, hear me. 

Artem, And be ai^ain refused ? 

Anton, I'he tender of 
My lif*e, my service, or, since you voucnsate it. 

My love, my heart, my all : aod pardon me, 

P^rdoQ, dread princess, that I made some scruple 

To leave a valley of serurity. 

To mount up to the hill uf majesty, 

On which, the nearer Jove, the nearer lightning. 

What knew I, but yuur grace made trial of me ; 

Durst I presume to embrace, where but to touch 

With an unmanner'd hand, was death ? The fox, 

^^ ben he saw fir^t the forest's king, the lion, 

W«s almost dead with fear ; the second view 

Only a little daunted hiui ; the third, 

He durst salute him boldly : pray you, apply this ; 

Aod yon shall litod a little time will teach me 

T^ look with more familiar eyes upon you. 

Than dn'y yet allows me. 

Sitp. Well excused. 

Ariem. You may redeem all yet. 

Dioele. And, that be may 
Have means and opportunity to do so, 
.\rtemia, I leave you my substitute 
In f^ir Cc&area. 

Sap. And here, as yourself, 
We will obey and serve her. 

Diocle. Antoninus, 
So you prove hers, I wish no other heir ; 
Think on*t : — be careful of )our charge, Theophi- 
Sttpritios, be you my daughter's guardian. |iu8 ; 
Yonr company 1 wish, confederate princes, 
In our Dalmatian wars ; which finished 
With victory I hope, and Maximinus, 
Our bro her and copartner in the empire, 
At my request won to confirm as much. 
The kingdoms I took from you we'll restore. 
And make you greater than you were before. 

iBjemnt ail but Antoninub and BiUcaiiiua. 

Anton, Oh, I am lost for ever ! lost, Macrinus ! 
The anchor of the wretched, hope, forsakes me. 
And with one blast of Fortune all my light 
Of happiness is put out. 

3/ae. You are like to those 
That are ill only, 'cause they are too well ; 
That, surfeiting in the excess of blessings, 
Call their abundance want. What could you wish, 
TtiAt is not fall'n upon you ? honour, greatness, 
Respect, wealth, favour, the whole world for a dower ; 
And with a princess, whose excelling form 
&iceeds her fortune. 

AnUm. Yet poison still ig poison. 
Though drunk in gold ; and all these flattering 
To me, ready to starve, a painted banquet, [glories 
And no essential food. When I am scorch 'd 
With fire, can flames in any other quench me ' 
What is her love to me, greatness, or empire, 

That am slave to another, who alone 
Can give me ease or freedom ! 

Mac. Sir, you point at 
Your dotage on the scornful Dorothea : 
I* she, though fair, the same day to be named 
With best Artemia ? In all their courses. 
Wise men propose their ends : with sweet Artemia 
There comes along pleasure, security. 
Usher 'd by all that in this life is precious : 
With Dorothea (though her birth be noble. 
The daughter to a senator of Rome, 
By him left rich, yet with a private wealth, 
A ud far inferior to yours) arrives 
The emperor's frown, which, like a mortal plague. 
Speaks death is near; the princess' heavy scorn, 
Under which you will shrink ; your father's fury, 
Which to resist, even piety forbids : — 
And but remember that she stands suspected 
A favourer of the Christian sect ; she brings 
Not danger, but assured destruction with her. 
This truly weigh'd, one smile of great Artemia 
Is to be cherish'd, and preferr*d before 
All joys in Dorothea : therefore leave her. 

Anton. In what thou think'st thou art most 
wise, thou art 
Grossly abused, Macrinus, and most foolish. 
For any man to match above his rank, 
Is but to sell his liberty. With Artemia 
I still must live a servant ; but enjoying 
Divinest Dorothea, I shall rule. 
Rule as becomes a husband : for the danger^ 
Or call it, if you will, Mtured denlruetiont 
I slight it thus — If, then, thou art my friend, 
As I dare swear thou art, and wilt not take 
A governor's place upon thee, be my helper. 

Mae. You know I dare, and will do anything ; 
Put me unto the test. 

Anton. Go then, Macrinus, 
To Dorothea ; tell her I have worn, 
In all the battles I have (ought, her figure. 
Her figure in my heart, which, like a deity. 
Hath still protected me. Thou can'st speak well ; 
And of thy choicest language spare a little, 
To make her understand how much I love her. 
And how 1 languish for her. Bear these jewels, 
Sent in the way of sacrifice, not service. 
As to my goddess : all lets thrown behind me. 
Or fears that may deter me, say, this morning 
I mean to visit her by the name of friendship : 
— No words to contradict this. 

A%tac, I am yours : 
And, if my travail this way be ill spent, 
Judge not my readier will by the event. lExeunt, 


8CENK \^~A Room in Dorothra's Uotue. 

Enter Smtoma and Hi sen's. 

Spmm, Tom Christian ! Would he that first 
tempted me to have my shoes walk upon Christian 
soles, had tnm'd me into a capon ; for 1 am sure 
BOW, the stones of all my pleabure, in this fleahly 
fafe, are cut oft. 

Hir. So then, if any coxcomb has a galloping 
ienrr t« ride, faiert's a gelding, if he can but sit 

Spun. I kick, for all that, like a horse ; — look 

Hir. But that is a kickish jade, fellow Spun- 
gius. Have not I as much cause to complain as 
thou bast ? When I was a pagan, there was an 
infidel punk of mine, would have let roe come upon 
trust for my curvetting : a pox on your Christian 
cockatrices ! they cry, like poulterers' wives : — No 
money, no coney. 

Spun. Bacchus, the god of brew'd wine and 
sugar, grand patron of rob-pots, upsy-freesy tip 


ACT ff* 

plera, and soper-naculam takers ; this Bacchus, 
who is head warden of Vintners'-hall, ale-conner, 
mayor of all victualling-hooses, the sole liquid 
benefactor to bawdy-houses*; lanceprezade to red 
noses, and invincible adelantado over the armado 
of pimpled, deep-scarleted, rubified, and carbuncled 

Hir. What of all this ? 

Spun, This boon Bacchanalian skinker, did I 
make legs to. 

Hir. Scurry ones, when thou wert drmnk. 

Spun. There is no danger of losing a man's 
ears by making these indentures ; he that will not 
now and then be Calabingo, is worse than a Cala- 
moothe. When I was a pagan, and kneeled to 
this Bacchus, I durst out-driok a lord ; but your 
Christian lords out -bowl me. I was in hoi>e to 
lead a sober life, when I was converted ; but, now 
amongst the Christians, I can no sooner stagger 
out of one alehouse, but I reel into another ; they 
have whole streets of nothing but drinking-rooms, 
and drabbing-chambers, jumbled together. 

Ilir, Bawdy Priapus, the first schoolmaster that 
taught butchers how to stick pricks in flesh, and 
make it swell, thou know'st, was the only ningle 
that I cared for under the moon ; but, since I left 
hitn to follow a scurvy lady, what with her praying 
and our fasting, if now I come to a wench, and 
offer to use her anything hardly, (telling her, being 
a Christian, she must endure,) she presently han- 
dles me as if I were a clove, and cleaves me with 
disdain, as if I were a calf's head. 

Spun, I see no remedy, fellow Hircius, but that 
thou and I must be half pagans, and half Chris- 
tians ; for we know very fools that are Christians. 

Hir. Right : the quarters of Christians are good 
for nothing but to feed crows. 

Spun, True : Christian brokers, thou know'st, 
are made up of the quarters of Christians ; parboil 
one of these rogues, and he is not meat for a dog : 
no, no, I am resolved to have an infiders heart, 
though in shew I carry a Christian's face. 

Hir, Thy last shall serve my foot ; so will I. 

Spun. Our whimpering lady and mistress sent 
me with two great baskets full of beef, mutton, 
zeal, and goose, fellow Hircius 

Hir. And woodcock, fellow Spungius. 

Spun. Upon the poor lean ass-fellow, on which 
[ ride, to all the almswomen : what think'st thou 
[ have done with all this good cheer ? 

llir. Eat it ; or be choked else. 

Spun. Would my ass, basket and all, were in 
thy maw, if I did ! No, as I am a demi-pagan, I 
sold the victuals, and coined the money into potlle 
pots of wine. 

Hir. Therein thou shewed^st thyself a perfect 
dcmi-christian too, to let the poor beg, starve, 
and hang, or die of the pip. Our puling, snotty- 
nose lady sent me out likewise with a purse of 
money, to relieve and release prisoners : — Did I so, 
think you } 

Spun, Would thy ribs were turned into grates of 
iron then. 

Hir. As I am a total pagan, I swore they should 
be hanged first : for, sirrah Spungius, I lay at my 
old ward of lechery, and cried, a pox on your two- 
penny wards ! and so I took scurvy common flesh 
for the money. 

Spun, And wisely done ; for oar lady, lending 
It to prisonen, had bestowed it out upon lousy 

knaves : and thou, to save that labour, cast'st it 
away upon rotten whores. 

Hir. All my fear is of that pink-an-eye jack- 
an-apes boy, her page. 

Spun. As I am a pagan from my cod-piece 
downward, that white-faced monkey frights me 
too. I stole but a dirty pudding, last day, out of 
an almsbasket, to give my dog when he was hungrry, 
and the peaking chitty-face page hit roe in the 
teeth with it. 

Hir. With the dirty pudding ! so he did me 
once with a cow- turd, which in knavery I would 
have crumb'd into one's porridge, who was half 
a pagan too. The smug dandiprat smeUs us out, 
whatsoever we are doing. 

Spun. Does he ? let him take heed I prove not 
his back-friend : I'll make him curse his smelling 
what I do. 

Hir. 'Tis my lady spoils the boy ; for he is 
ever at her tail, and she is never well but in his 

Enter ANOBiiO with a book, and a taper lighted t teeing 
him J thep counter/dt devoticn. 

Ang, O ! now your hearts make ladders of 
your eyes, 
In shew to climb to heaven, when your devotion 
Walks upon crutches. Where did you waste 

your time. 
When the religious man was on his knees. 
Speaking the heavenly language } 

Spun, Why, fellow Angelo, we were speaking 
in pedlar's French, 1 hope. 

Hir. We have not been idle, take it upon my 

Ang, Have you the baskets emptied, which 
your lady 
Sent, from her charitable hands, to women 
That dwell upon her pity ? 

Spun. Emptied them ! yes ; I'd be loth to have 
my belly so empty : yet, I am sure, I munched 
not one bit of them neither. 

Ang. And went your money to thi prisoners ? 

Hir. Went ! no ; I carried it, and with these 
fingers paid it away. 

Ang, What way ? the devil's way, the way of 
The way of hot damnation, way of lust ? [sin, 

And you, to wash away the poor man's bread, 
In bowb of drunkenness ? 

Spun, Drunkenness ! yes, yes, I use to be 
drunk; our next neighbour's man, called Chris- 
topher, hath often seen me drunk, hath he not ? 

Hir. Or me given so to the flesh : my cheeks 
speak my doings. 

Ang, Avaunt, ye thieves, and hollow hypocrites ! 
Your hearts to me lie open like black books. 
And there I read your doings. 

Spun. And what do you read in my heart ? 

Hir, Or in mine ? come, amiable Angelo, beat 
the flint of your brains. 

Spun, And let's see what sparks of wit fly out 
to kindle your cerebrum. 

Ang, Your names even brand yon; you arc 
Spungius call'd. 
And like a spunge, you suck up lickerish win^ 
Till your soul reels to hell. 

Spun. To hell ! can any drunkard's legs cany 
him so far ? 

Ang, For blood of grapes yon sold the widows 

«»SIfB II. 


Aod, ttanring them, *tis murder ; what's this but 

hell ? 

tiircins your name, and goatish is your nature ; 
Vwn cnatch the meat out of the prisoner's mouth, 
To fatten harlots : is not this hell too ? 
No angel, hut the devil, waits on you. 

Spun. Shall I cut his throat P 

Uir. No ; better burn him, for I think he is a 
witch : but sooth, sooth him. 

Spun. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling 
into the company of wicked he-christians, for my 
part • 

Hlr, And she ones, for mine, — ^we have them 
■wim in shoals hard by 

Spun, We must confess, I took too much out 
of the pot ; and he of t'other hollow commodity. 

Hir. Yes, indeed, we laid Jill on both of us ; 
we cozen'd the poor ; but 'tis a common thing : 
many a one, that counts himself a better Chris- 
tian than we two, has done it, by this light ! 

Spun, But pray, sweet Angelo, play not the 
tell-tale to my lady ; and, if you take us creeping 
into any of these mouse-holes of sin any more, 
let cats flay off our skins. 

Hir. And put nothing but the poison'd tails of 
r«ts into those skins. 

Anff. Will you dishonour her sweet charity, 
Who saved you from the tree of death and shame ? 

Hir. Would I were hang'd, rather than thus be 
told of my faults ! 

Spun. She took us, 'tis true, from the gallows ; 
yet I hope she will not bar yeoman sprats to have 
their awing. 

Ang, She comes, — beware, and mend. 

Hir, Let's break his neck, and bid him mend. 

JBnter DoaorazA. 

Dor, Have you my messages, sent to the poor, 
DeUvcr'd with good hands, not robbing them 
Of any jot was theirs ? 

Spun. Rob them, lady ! I hope neither my fel- 
low nor I am thieves. 

Hir. Delivered with good hands, madam ! else 
let me never lick my fingers more when I eat 
(ratter'd fish. 

Dor. Who cheat the poor, and from them pluck 
their alms. 
Pilfer from heaven ; and there are thunderbolts, 
Prom thenoe to beat them ever. Do not lie ; 
Were yoa both £iithful, true distributers ? 

Spun. Lie, madam 1 what grief is it to see you 
turn swaggerer, and give your poor-minded rasodly 
servants the lie ! 

Dor. Vm glad you do not ; if those wretched 
TeD joa they pine for want of any thing, 
Whuper but to mine ear, and you shall furnish 

Hir, Whisper 1 nay, lady, for my part I'll cry 

Ang. Flay no more, villains, with so good a 


For, if you do 

Sptm, Are we Christians ? 

Hir, The fool fiend soap all pagans for me ! 

Anff, Away, and, onoe more, mend. 

Splm, Takes us for botchers. 

Hir. A patch, a patch ! lExeunt Bum. omd Hm. 

Dor, My book and taper. 

Ang, Hctc, most holy mifltreis. 

Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, tliut 
I never 
Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound. 
Were every servant in the world like thee. 
So full of goodness, angels woald come down 
To dwell with us : thy name is Angelo, 
And like that name thou art ; get thee to rest. 
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest. 

Ang, No, my dear lady, I could weary stars. 
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes, 
By my late watching, but to wait on you. 
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar, 
Methjnks I'm singing with some quire in heaven, 
So blest I hold me in your company : 
Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid 
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence 
For then you break his heart. 

Dor. Be nigh me still, then : 
In golden letters dovm I'll set that day, 
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope 
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself. 
This little, pretty body ; when I, coming 
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy, 
My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms 
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand ! - 
And, when I took thee home, my most chaste 

Methooght, was fill'd with no hot wanton fire. 
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher, 
On wings of cherubins, than it did before. 

Ang. Proud am I, that my lady's modest vyv 
So likes so poor a servant. 

Dor. I have offer 'd 
Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents. 
I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some. 
To dwell with thy good father ; for, the son 
Bewitching me so deeply wiUi his presence. 
He that begot him must do't ten times more. 
I pray thee, my sweet boy, shew me thy parents ; 
Be not ashamed. 

Ang. I am not : I did never 
Know who my mother was ; but, by yon palace, 
Fill'd with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare 

assure you. 
And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand. 
My father is in heaven : and, pretty mistress. 
If your illustrious hourglass spend his sand, 
No worse than yet it does ; upon my life. 
You and I both shall meet my father there, 
And he shall bid you welcome. 

Dor. A blessed day ! 

We all long to be there, but lose the way. 



SCENE II.— A Street, near Dorothba'i 

Enter MAcaiitus, met by Theophilus and IIarpaz. 

Theoph, The Sun, god of the day, guide thee, 
Macrinus I 

Mac, And thee, Theophilus I 

Theoph, Glad'st thou in such scorn ' 
I call my wish back. 

Mae, I'm in haste. 

Theoph, One word. 
Take the least hand of time up: — stay. 

jlfoc. Be brief. 

Theoph, As thought : I prithee tell me, good 
How liealth and our fair princess lay together 



ACT 11. 

This night, for yoa can tell ; courtien have flies, 
That buzz all news unto thein. 

JIfac. She slept but ill. 

Theoph. Double thy courtesy ; bow does An- 
tonious ? 

Mac, III, well, straight, crooked, — ^I know not 

Theoph, Once more ; [how. 

— Thy head is full of windmills : — ^when doth the 

Fill a bed full of beauty, and bestow it 
On Antoninus, on the wedding-night ? 

Mao. 1 know not. 

Theoph. No ! thou art the manuscript. 
Where Antoninus writes down all his secrets : 
Honest Macrinus, tell me. 

Mae. Fare you well, sir. [Sxit. 

Harp. Honesty is some fiend, and frights him 
A many courtiers love it not. [hence ; 

Theoph. What piece 
Of this state-wheel, which winds up Antoninus, 
Is broke, it runs so jarringly ? the man 
Is from himself divided : O thou, the eye, 
By which I wonders see, tell me, my Harpaz, 
What gad-fly tickles this Macrinus so. 
That, flinging up the tail, he breaks thus from me. 

Harp. Oh, sir, his brain-pan is a bed of snakes, 
Wh(Me stings shoot through his eye-balls, whose 

poisonous spawn 
Ingenders such a fry of speckled villainies, 
That, unless charms more strong than adamant 
Be used, the Roman angel's wings shall melt, 
And Cssar's diadem be from his head • 
Spum'd by base feet ; the laurel which he wears, 
Returning victor, be enforced to kiss 
That whidi it hates, the fire. And can this ram. 
This Antoninus-Engine, being made ready 
To so much mischief, keep a steady motion ? — 
His eyes and feet, you see, give strange assaults. 

Theoph. I'm tum'd a murble statue at thy lan- 
Which printed is in such crabb'd characters. 
It puzzles all my reading : what, in the name 
)f Pluto, now is hatching ? 

Harp. This Macrinus, 
The line is, upon which love-errands run 
*Twixt Antoninus and that ghost of women. 
The bloodless Dorothea ; who in prayer 
And meditation, mocking all your gods. 
Drinks up her ruby colour : yet Antoninus 
Plays the Endymion to this pale-faced Moon, 
Courts, seeks to catch her eyes — 

Theoph. And what of this ? 

Harp, These are but creeping billows, 
Not got to shore yet : but if Dorothes 
Fall on his bosom, and be fired with love, 
(Your coldest women do so), — had you ink 
Brew'd from the infernal Styx, not all that black- 
Can make a thing so foul, as the dishonours, [ness 
Disgraces, buffetings, and most base affronts 
Upon the bright Artemia, star o' the court, 
Great Cesar's. daughter. 

Theoph. I now conster thee. 

Harp, Nay, more ; a firmament of clouds, beinf 
With Jove's artillery, shot down at once, [fiU'd 
To pash your gods in pieces, cannot give. 
With all those thunderbolts, so deep a blow 
To the religion there, and pagan lore, 
As this ; for Dorothea hates your gods, 
And, if she once blast Antoninus' ionl. 
Making it foul like hers, Oh ! the ftramplo ■ 

Theoph, Eats through Cssarea's heart like 
liquid poison. 
Have I invented tortures to tear Christians, 
To see but which, could all that feel hell's tor. 

Have leave to stand sloof here on earth's stage, 
They would be mad till they again descended. 
Holding the pains most horrid of such souls, 
May-games to those of mine ; has this my hand 
Set down a Christian's execution 
In such dire postures, that the very hangman 
Fell at my foot dead, hearing but their figures ; 
And shall Macrinus and his fellow-masquer 
Strangle me in a dance ? 

Harp. No : — on ; I hug thee. 
For drilling thy quick brains in this rich plot 
Of tortures 'gainst these Christians : on ; I hog 
thee ! 
Theoph. Both hug and holy me : to this Doro* 
Fly thou and I in thunder. [thea. 

Harp. Not for kingdoms 
Piled upon kingdoms : there's a villain page 
Waits on her, whom I would not for the world 
Hold traffic with ; I do so hate his sight. 
That, should I look on him, I must sink down. 
Theoph. I will not lose thee then, her to con- 
found : 
None but this head with glories shall be crown'd. 
Harp, Oh ! mine own as I would wish thee ! 


SCENE III. — A Room in Dorothba's Houm. 
Enter Dohothsa, MAcaiNus, and An«ku>. 

Dor. My trusty Angelo, with that curious eye 
Of thine, which ever waits upon my business, 
I prithee watch those my still-negligent servants. 
That they perform my wUl, in what's ei^oin'd them 
To the good of others ; else will you find them flies. 
Not lying stilL, yet in them no good lies : 
Be careful, dear boy. 

Ang. Yes, my sweetest mistress. C&rtt. 

Dor. Now, sir, you may go on. 

Mao. I then must study 
A new arithmetic, to sum up the virtues 
Which Antoninus gracefully become. 
There is in him so much man, so much goodneas. 
So much of honour, and of all things else, 
Which make our being excellent, that from his store 
He can enough lend others ; yet, much ta'en from 
The want shdl be as little, as when seas [him. 
Lend from their bounty, to fill up the poorness 
Of needy rivers. 

Dor. Sir, he is more indebted 
To you for praise, than you to him that owes it. 

Mae, If queens, viewing his presents paid to the 
Of your chaste hand alone, should be ambitious 
But to be parted in their numerous shares ; 
This he counts nothing : could you see main mrmies 
Make battles in tiie quarrel of his valour. 
That 'tis the best, the truest ; this were nothing : 
The greatness of his state, his Esther's voice, 
And arm, awing CBsarea, he ne'er boasts of ; 
The sunbeams which the emperor throws upon hiaHf 
Shine there but as in water, and gild him 
Not with one spot of pride : no, dearest beanty. 
All these, heap'd up together in one scale. 
Cannot weigh down the love he bean to you 
Being pot into the other. 





IW. Could gold buy you 
To icpeak thus for a friend, yon, sir, are worthy 
Of more than I will number ; and this your Un- 
Hath power to win upon another woman, [guage 
*To|> of whose heart the feathers of this world 
Are gaily stuck : but all which first you named. 
And DOW this last, his love, to me are nothing. 

Mmc. You make me a sad messenger; — but 

JSM«r Airroif nrva. 

Being come in person, shall, I hope, hear firom you 
Mane more pleasing. 

Anion. Has your ear, Macrinns, 
Heard none, then ? 

J/oe. None I like. 

Anion. But can there be 
In sQch a noble casket, wherein lie 
Beauty and chastity in their full perfections, 
A rocky heart, killing with cruelty 
A life that's prostrated beneath your feet ? 

Dor. I am guilty of a »hame I yet ne'er knew, 
Thus to hold parley with you ; — pray, sir, pardon. 


Anion. Good sweetness, yon now have it, and 
shall go: 
Be but so merciful, before your wounding me 
With such a mortal weapon as Farewell, 
To let me murmur to yuur virgin ear. 
What I was loth to lay on any tongue 
But this mine own. 

Dor. If one immodest accent 
Fly out, I hate you everlastingly. 

Anion. My true love dare:* not do it. 

Mluc. Hermes inspire tliee ! 

EnUr abo9t^ Artkmia, Sapritiuv. THSoPHUUim, 
bPL'MOirii, and Uircics. 

Spun. So, now, do you see ? — Our work is done ( 
the nah you angle for is nibbling at the hook, and 
tUerefore untnus the cod-piece-puint of our reward, 
DO matter if the breeches of conscience fall about 
our heels. 

Theoph. The gold you earn b here ; dam up 
And no words of it. [your mouths, 

JEfir. No ; nor no words from you of too inuch 
damning neither. I know women sell themselves 
daily, and are hdcknied out for silver : why may 
■ot we, then, betray a scurvy mistress for gold ? 

Spun. She saved us from the gallows, and, only 
to keep one proverb from breaking his neck, we'U 
haug her. 

Theoph. 'Tis well done ; go, go, you're my fine 
white boys. 

Spun. If your red boys, 'tis well known more 
iU-favonred faces than uurs are painted. 

Sop. Those fellows trouble us. 

'J heoph. Aw2Ljt away ! 

/ftr. I to my sweet placket. 

Spun. And I to my full pot. 

lExeunt Ilia, aud Spun. 

Anton. Come, let me tune you : — glaze not tims 
With self-love of a vow'd virginity, [your eyes 
Make erery man your glass ; you see our bcx 
Do never murder propagation ; 
We all desire your sweet society, 
But if TOtt bar me from it, you do kill me, 
Kodoimj blood are guilty. 

Ariem. O base villain ! 

Sop. Bridle your rage, sweet princess. 
Could not my fortunes. 

Rear'd higher far than yours, be worthy of you, 
Meihinks my dear affection makes you mine. 

Dor. Sir, for your fortunes, were they mines of 
He chat I love is richer ; and for worth, [gold, 
You are to him lower than any slave 
Is to a monarch. 

Sap. ^o insolent, base Christian ! 

Dor. Can I, with wearing out my koecs before 
Get you but be his servant, you shall boast [him, 
You're equal to a king. 

Sap. Confusion on thee, 
For playing thus the lying sorceress ! 

Anton. Your mocks are great ones ; none be- 
neath the sun 
Will I be servant to. — On my knees I beg it, 
Pity me, wondrous maid. 

Sap. I curse thy baseness. 

Theoph, Listen to more. 

Dor, O kneel not, sir, to me. 

Anton. This knee is emblem of an humbled 
That heart which tortured is with your disdain, 
Justly for scorning others, even this heart, 
To which for pity such a princess sues. 
As in her hand offers me all the world, 
Great Csesar's daughter. 

Artem, Slave, thou liest. 

Anion. Yet this 
Is adamant to her, that melts to you 
In drops of blood. 

Theoph. A very dog ! 

Anton, Perhaps 
'Tis my religion makeff you knit the brow 
Yet be you mine, and ever be your own : 
1 ne'er will screw your conscieuce from that Power, 
On which you Christians lean. 

Sap. I can no longir 
Fret out my life with weeping at thee, villain. 
Sirrah ! • lAloud 

Would, when I got thee, the high Thunderer's hand 
Had btruck thee in the womb ! 

Mac. We are betray'd. 

Artem. Is that the idol. 
Trampling upon my besuty .' 

Theoph, Sirrah, bandog! 
Wilt thou in pieces tear our Jupiter 
For her ? our Mars for her ? our Sol for her ?— 
A whore ! a hell-hound ! In this globe of brams, 
W'here a whole world of furies for such tortures 
Have fought, as in a chaos, which should exceed, 
These nails shall grubbing lie from skull ^ skull. 
To find one horrider than all, for you. 
You three ! 

Artem. Threaten not, but strike: quick ven- 
geance dies 
Into my bosom ; caitiff! here all love dies. 

[Exfutit nbot; . 

Anton. O ! I am thunderstruck ! We are both 

^ftlc, With one high-raging billow. 

Dor. You a soldier. 
Alii sink beneath the violence of a woman ! 

Anton, A woman ! a wrong'd princess. From 
such a star 
Blazing wiih fires of hate, what can be look'd for, 
Hut tragical events i my life is now 
The subject of her tyranny. 

Dor. That fear is base. 
Of death, when that death doth but life dis li-ici; 
Out of her house of earth : vou onlv drrad 

traitor, which thou 
[kneei'st to, 



ACT 11. 

Tlie stroke* and not what follows when you're 

There's the great fear, indeed : come, let your eyes 
Dwell where mine do, you'll scorn their tyrannies. 

Re-enter belotr, Artkmia, SAPRintm,, a 
guard / Anurlo comet and standi etose by Doiiothica. 

Artem. My father's nerves put vigour in mine 
And I his strength must use. Because I once 
Shed heams of favour on thee, and, with the lion, 
Play'd with thee gently, when thou struck'st iny 
I'll not insult on a base, humbled prey, [heart, 
Ky lingering out thy terrors; but, with one frown, 
Vj\\ tiiee : — hence with them all to eiecutton. 
Seize him ; but let even death itself be weary 
In torturing her. I'll change those smiles to 

shrieks ; 
Give the fool what she's proud of, martyrdom : 
In pieces rack that bawd too. ^Poii^M to Macr. 

Sap. Albeit the reverence 
I owe our gods and you, are, in my bosom, 
Torrents so strong, that pity quite lies drown'd 
From saving this young man ; yet, when I see 
What face death gives him, and that a thing within 

Says, 'tis my son, I am forced to be a man. 
And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg. 

Artem, And I deny. 

Anton, Sir, you dishonour me, 
To sue for that which I disclaim to have. 
I shall more glory in my sufferings gain. 
Than you in giving judgment, since I offer 
My blood up to your anger ; nor do I kneel 
To keep a wretched life of mine from ruin : 
Preserve this temple, builded fair as yours is, 
And Csesar never went in grfater triumph, 
Than I shall to the scaffold. 

Artem, Are you so brave, rir ? 
Set forward to his triumph, and let thoie two 
Go cursing along with him. 

Dor, No, but pitying, 
For my part, I, that you lose ten times more 
By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures : 
Through all the army of my sins, I have even 
Labour 'd to break, and cope with death to th' face. 
The visage of a hangman frights not me ; 
The sight of whips, racks, gibbets, axes, fires, 
Are scaffoldings by which my soul climbs up 
To an eternal habitation. 

Theoph, Cesar's imperial daughter ! hear me 
Let not this Christian thing, in this her pageantry 
Of proud deriding both our gods and Cesar, 
Build to herself a kingdom in her death. 
Going laughing from us : no ; her bitterest torment 
Shall be, to fed her constancy beaten down ; 
The bravery of her resolution lie 
Batter'd, by argument, into such pieces. 
That she again shall, on her belly, creep 
To kiss the pavements of our paynim gods. 

Artem. How to be done ? 

Theoph, I'll send my daughters to her. 
And they shall turn her rocky faith to wax ; 
Else spit at me, let me be made your slave. 
And meet no Roman's but a villain's grave. 

Artem. Thy prisoner let her be, then ; and, 
Your son and that, be yours : death shall be sent 
To him that suffers them, by voice or letters, 

To «rreet each other. Rifle her estate ; 
Christians to beggary brought, grow desperate. 

Dor. Still on the bread of poverty let me feed. 

Aiiff. O ! my admired mistress, quench not out 
The holy fires within you, though temptations 
Shower down upon you : Clasp Uiine armour on. 
Fight well, and thou shalt see, after these wars, 
Thy head wear sunbeams, and thy feet touch stars. 

lExeunt aU but Anosio. 

Enter Hncnni and Bpurrorus. 

Mir. How now, Angelo ; how is it, how is it ? 
What thread spins that whore Fortune upon her 
wheel now ? 

Spwi. Com* eata^ com* eata, poor knave ? 

Hir. Comment portez-voutf comment portea- 
vouXf mon petit gar^on $ 

Spun, My pretty wee comrade, my half.inch of 
man's flesh, how run the dice of this cheating 
world, ha ? 

Ang, Too well on your sides ; you are hid in 
gold, o'er head and ears. 

Hir, We thank our fates, the sign of the gingle- 
boys hangs at the doors of our pockets. 

Snun, Who would think that we, coming forth 
of the a — , as it were, or fag-end of the world, 
should yet see the golden age, when so little silvef 
is stirring ? 

Hir, Nay, who can say any citizen is an ass, 
for loading hb own back with money till his sou 
cracks again, only to leave his son like a gilded 
coxcomb behind him ? Will not any fool take me 
for a wise man now, seeing me draw out of the pit 
of my treasury this little god with his belly full of 

Spun. And this, full of the same meat, out of 
my ambry ? 

Ang. That gold will melt to poison. 

Spun. Poison ! would it woidd I whole pints for 
healths should down my throat. 

Hir, Gold, poison 1 there is never a she*tiirasher 
in Csesarea, that lives on the flail of money, will 
call it so. 

Ang. Like slaves yon sold your souls for golden 
Bewraying her to death, who stept between 
You and the gallows. 

Spun. It was an easy matter to save us, she 
being so well back'd. 

Hir. The gallows and we fell out : so she did 
but part us. 

Ang. The misery of that mistress is mine own ; 
She beggar'd, I left wretched. 

Hir, I can but let my nose drop in sorrow, with 
wet eyes for her. 

Spun. The petticoat of her estate is nnlaoed, I 

Hir. Yes, and the smock of her charity is now 
all to pieces. 

Ang. For love yon bear to her, for tome good 
Done you by me, give me one piece of silver. 

Hir, How ! a piece of silver 1 if thou wert an 
angel of gold, I would not put thee into white 
money unless 1 weighed thee ; and I weigh thee 
not a rush. 

Spun, A piece of silver I I never had hat two 
calves in my life, and those my mother left me ; 
I will rather part from the fat of them, than from 
a mustard- token 'a worth of argent. 

•TKYCK 1. 



iiir. And lo, tweet nit, we crawl from thee. 

Spun. Adieu, demi-dandiprat, adieu ! 

Attg, Stay, — one word yet ; you now are full of 

tiir, I would be forry my dog were so full of 
I the |K>x. 

Spun. Or any low of mine of the meazles either. 
Amg. Go, go ! you're beggars both ; you are 

not worth 
That leather on your feet. 
Iiir. Away, away, boy ! 

Spun. Page, you do nothing but tet patches on 
the »i»les of your jeAts. 
^A^. I am glad I tried your loTe» which , see ! 

I want not. 
So long as thi« is full. 

Both. And bo long as this, so long as this. 
Hir. Spungius, you are a pickpocket. 
Spurn. Hircius, thou hast nimm'd: — So long 
aa« / — not so much money is left as will buy a louse. 
Uir. Thou art a thief, and thou liest in that gut 
rouKh which thy wine runs, if thou deniest it. 
Spurn. Thou liest deeper than the bottom of 
ine enraged pocket, if thou affrontest it. 
Ang. No blows, no bitter language ; — all your 

gold gone ! 
Spurn. Can Uie deril creep into one's breeches ? 

Hir. Yes, if his horns once get into the cod- 

Ang. Come, sigh not ; I so little am in love 
With that whose loss kills you, that, see ! 'tis 

All yours : divide the heap in equal share. 
So you will go along with me to prifon. 
And in our mistress' sorrows bear a part : 
Sav, will you ? 

Both. WUl we I 

Spun. If she were going to hanging, no gallows 
should part us. 

Hir. Let us both be tum'd into a rope of onions, 
if we do not. 

Ang, Follow me, then ; repair your bad deeds 
past ; 
Happy are men, when their best days are last ! 

Spun, True, master Angelo i pray, sir, lead the 
way. lExit Amoklo. 

Hir. Let him lead that way, but follow thou me 
this way. 

Spun. I live in a gaol ! 

Hir. Away, and shift for ourselves : — She'll do 
well enough there ; for prisoners are more hungry 
after mutton, than catchpoles after prisoners. 

Spun. Let her starve then, if a whole gaol will 
not fill her belly. lExeutU. 


SCENE l^—A Room in Dorothea's House. 

Enter Sapritius, TH»>PHiLir8, Prlc»t, Cajlhtta, and 


I Sap. Sick to the death, I fear. 
' Theoph. I meet your sorrow. 
With my true feeling of it. 

Sap, She*8 a witch, 
A Kirceress, Theophilus ; my son 
U charm 'd by her enchanting eyes ; and, like 
An image maude of wax, her beams of beauty 
Melt him to nothing : all my hopes in him. 
And all his gotten honours, find their grave 
In his strange dotage on her. Would, when first 
He saw and loved her, that the earth had open'd. 
And swallow'd both alive ! 

Thetiph, There's hope left yet. 

Sap. Not any : though the princess were ap- 
All title in her love surrender'd up ; [peased, 

Yet this coy Christian is so transported 
With her religion, that unless my son 
(But let him perish first !) drink the same potion, 
And be of her belief, she'll not vouchsafe 
To be his lawful wife. 

Prie$t. But, once removed 
From her opinion, as I rest assured 
The reasons of these holy maids will win her, 
Yoa'll find her tractable to anything, 
For your content or his. 

Theoph. If she refuse it. 
The Stygian damps, breeding infectious airs. 
The mandrake's shrieks, the basilisk's killing eye, 
The dreadful lightning that does crush the bones, 
And never singe the skin, shall not appear 
Leas fatal to her, than my seal made hot 
With love onto my gods. I have deferr'd it, 
!• hopes to draw bi^k this apostata, 

Which will be greater honour than her death. 
Unto her father's faith ; and, to that end, 
Have brought my daughters hither. 

Cat And we doubt not 
To do what you desire. 

Sap. Let her be sent for. 
Prosper in your good work ; and were I not 
To attend the princess, I would see and hear 
How you succeed. 

Theoph, I am commanded too, 
I'll bear you company. 

Sap. Give them your ring, 
To lead her as in triumph, if they win her. 
Before her highness. \,EmU, 

Theoph. Spare no promises, 
Persuasions, or threats, I do conjure yon : 
If you prevail, 'tis the most glorious work 
You ever undertook. 

EnUr DonoraaA and Anoklo. 

Priest. She comes. 
Theoph, We leave you ; 

Be constant, and be careful. 

lEztunl Thbopii. and Triesl 

Col. We are sorry 
To meet you under guard. 

Dor. But I more grieved 
You are at liberty. So well I love you. 
That I could wish, for such a cause as mine. 
You were my fellow-prisoners : Prithee, Angelo, 
Reach us some chairs. Please you sit 

Cal. We thank you : 
Our visit is for love, love to your safety. 

Christ. Our conference must be private, pra} 
you, therefore. 
Command your boy to leave us. 

Dor, You may trust him 




With any secret that concerns my life, 
Faliiehood and be are strangers : had you. ladies, 
Been bless'd with such a servant, you had never 
Forsook that way, your journey even half ended, 
That leads to joys eternal. In the place 
Of loose lascivious mirth, he would have stirr'd 
To holy meditations ; and so far [you 

He is from flattery, that he would have told you, 
Your pride being at the height, how miserable 
And wretched things you were, that, for an hour 
Or pleasure here, have made a desperate sale 
Of all your right in happiness hereafter. 
He must not leave me ; without him I fall : 
In this life he*s my servant, in the'other 
A wish'd companion 

Ang. 'Tis not in the devil, 
Nor all his wicked arts, to shake such goodness. 

Dor. But you were speaking, lady. 

Col, As a friend 
And lover of your safety, and I pray you 
So to receive it ; and, if you remtrmber 
Ho(v near in love our parents were, that we. 
Even from the cradle, were brong'it np together, 
Our amity increasing with our years, 
We cannot stand suspected. 

Dor. To the purpose. 

Cat. We come, then, as good angels, Dorothea, 
To make you happy ; and the means so easy, 
That, be not you an enemy to yourself, 
Already you enjoy it. 

ChruL Look on us, 
Ruin'd as you are, once, and brought unto it. 
By yo'jr persuasion. 

Col, But what followed, lady ? 
Leaving those blessings which our gods gave 

And shower'd upon us with a prodigal hand, 
As to be noble born, youth, beauty, wealth, 
And the free use of these without control. 
Check, curb, or stop, such is our law's indul- 
gence ! 
All happiness forsook us ; bonds and fetters. 
For amorous twines ; the rack and hangman's 

In place of choice delights ? our parents' curses 
Instead of blessings ; scorn, neglect, contempt, 
Fell thick upon us. 

Christ. This considered wisely. 
We made a fair retreat ; and reconciled 
To our forsaken gods, we live again 
In all prosperity. 

Col. By our example, 
Bequeathing misery to such as love it. 
Learn to be happy. The Christian yoke's too 

For such a dainty neck ; it was framed rather 
To be the shrine of Venus, or a pillar. 
More precious than crystal, to support 
Our Cupid's image : our religion, lady. 
Is but a varied pleasure ; yours a toil 
Slaves would shrink under. 

Dor. Have you not cloven feet ? are you not 
devils ? 
Dare any say so much, or dare I bear it 
>Vithout a virtuous and religious anger ? 
Now to put on a virgin modesty. 
Or maiden silence, when His power is question'd 
That is omnipotent, were a greater crime, 
Than in a bad cause to be impudent. 
Your gods ! your temples ! brothel-booses rather. 

Or wicked actions of the worst of men, 
Pursued and practised. Your religious rites ! 
Oh ! call them rather juggling mysteries. 
The baits and nets of heU : your souls the prey 
For which the devil angles ; your false pleasures 
A steep descent, by which you headlong fall 
Into eternal torments. 

Cal. Do not tempt 
Our {lowcrful gods. 

Dor, Which of your powerful gods ? 
Y'our gold, your stiver, bras^, or wooden ones. 
That can nor do mc hurt, nor protect you? 
Most pitied women ! will you sacrifice 
To such,— or call them gods or goddesses. 
Your parents would disdiun to be the same. 
Or you yourselves ? O blinded ignorance ! 
IVU me, Calista. by the truth, I charge you. 
Or anything you hold more dear, would you. 
To have him deified to posterity, 
Desire your fother an adulterer, 
A ravisher, almost a parricide, 
A vile incestuous wretch ? 

Cal. That, piety 
And duty answer for me. 

Dor, Or you, Christeta, 
To be hereafter register'd a goddess, 
Give your chaste body up to the embraces 
Of goatish lust ? have it writ on your forehead, 
" This is the common whore, the prostitute, 
Tlie mistress in the art of wantonness. 
Knows every trick, and labyrinth of desires 
That are immodest ?" 

Christ. You judge better of me. 
Or my affection is Ul placed on yqu ; 
Shall I turn strumpet ? 

Dor. No, I think you would not. 
Yet Venus, whom you worship, was a whore 
Flora, the foundress of the public stews, 
And has, for that, her sacrifice ; your great god, 
Your J upiter, a loose adulterer. 
Incestuous with his sister : read but those 
That have canonized them, you'll find them woi«e 
Than, in chaste language, I can speak them to you. 
Are they immortal then, that did partake 
Of human weakness, and had ample share 
In men's most base affections ; subject to 
Unchaste loves, anger, bondage, wounds, as men 

are ? 
Here, Jupiter, to serve his lust, tum'd bull. 
The shape, indeed, in which he stole Europa ; 
Neptune, for gain, builds up the walls of "Troy 
As a day-labourer; Apollo keeps 
Admetus' sheep for bread ; the Lemnian smith 
Sweats at the forge for hire ; Prometheus here, 
W^ith his still-growing liver, feeds the vulture ; 
Saturn bound fast in hell with adamant chains : 
And thousands more, on whom abused error 
Bestows a deity. Will you then, dear sisters, 
For 1 would have you such, pay your devotions 
To things of less power than yourselves ? 

Cal. We worship 
Their good deeds in their images. 

Dor. By whom fashion* d ? 
By sinful men. I'll tell you a short tale. 
Nor can you but confess it is a true one : 
A king of Egypt, being to erect 
The image of Osiris, whom they honour. 
Took from the matrons' neck the richest 
And purest gold, as the materials. 
To finish np his work ; which perfected* 

90ESK n. 



With all Kdemaity be tet it np. 

To be adored, and served him^ielf his idol ; 

DesiriDf it to give him victory 

Against his enemies : but, being overthrown, 

Enrai^ed ai^inst his god, (these are fine gods, 

Subject to human fury !) he took down 

The senseless thing, and melting it agnin, 

He made a baaion, in which eunuchs wM»h'd 

Hin concubine^s f«*et ; and for this sordid use, 

Smne months it served : his mistress proving 

As most indeed do 90. and grace concluded 
Between him and the priestii. of the same boson 
He made his god again I — Think, think, of this, 
And then con.^idt>r, if all worldly honours, 
Or pleatnres that do leave sharp slings behind 

HaT« power to win such as have reasonable souls, 
To put their tru^t in dross. 

Cml. Oh, that 1 had been bom 
Without a father ! 

Christ Piety to him 
Hath niin*d us for ever. 

Dor. Think not so ; 
You may repair all yet : the attribute 
That speaks his Godhead most, is merciful : 
Revenge is proper to the fiends you worship. 
Yet cannot strike without his leave. — You weep, — 
Oh, 'tis a heavenly shower ! celestial balm 
To cnre your wounded conscience ! let it fall, 
Pali thick upon it ; and, when that is spent, 
I'll help it with another of my tears : 
And may your true repentance prove the child 
Of mj true sorrow, never mother had 
A Irirth so happy ! 

Col. We are caught ourselves, 
lliat came to take you ; and, assured of conquest, 
We are your captives. 

Dor. And in that you triumph : 
Your victory had been eternal loss. 
And this your loss immortal gain. Fix here. 
And you Khali feel yoursflvos inwardly arro'd 
'Gainst tortures, death, and hell :— rbut, take heed, 

That, or through weakness, threats, or mild 
Though of a father, you fall not into [persuasiona, 
A second and a worse apostacy. 

Co/. Never, oh never I steel'd by your example. 
We dare the worst of tyranny. 

Christ. Here's our warrant. 
You shall along and witness it. 

Dor. Be confirm 'd then ; 
And rest assured, the more you suffer here. 
The more your glory, you to heaven more dear. 


SCENE 11— TA^ Governor's Palace, 
Enter Aktrmia, BAparrivs, Theoprilus. and Haspax. 
Artem, Sapritius, thongh your son deserve no 


We grieve his sickness : his contempt of us. 

We cast behind us, and look back upon 

His fervice done to Ciesar, that weighs down 

Our just displeasure. If his malady 

Have growth from his restraint, or that you think 

Hit liberty can cure him, let him have it: 

Say, we forgive him freely. 

Sap. Your grace binds ni, 
Ever your humblest vassals. 

Artem. Use all means 
For his recovery ; though yet I love him, 
I will not force aflTection. If the Christian, 
Whose beauty hath out-rivall'd me, be won 
To be of our belief, let him enjoy her ; 
That ail may know, when the cause wills, I can 
Command my own desires. 

Theoph. Be happy then. 
My lord Sapritius : I am confident. 
Such doquenre and sweet persuasion dwell 
Upon my daughters' tongues, that they will work 
To anything they please. [her 

Sap. 1 wish they may ! 
Yet 'tis no easy task to undertake, 
To alter a perverse and obstinate woman. 

lA thout ufithin : loud mwsie, 

Artem. What means this shout ? 

Sop. 'Tis seconded with music, 
Triumphant music. — Ha ! 

Enter Sbmpronius. 

Setup. My lord, your daughters, 
Tlie pillars of our faith, have converted. 
For so report gives out, the Christian lady, 
The image of tfreat Jupiter born before them, 
Sue for access. 

Theoph. My soul divined as much. 
Blest be the time when first they saw this light ! 
Their mother, when she bore them to support 
My feeble age, tilled not my longing heart 
With so much joy, as they in this good work 
Have thrown upon me. 

Enter Priest, tefth the image <{f Jupiter, ineente 
eentrrt ; followed 6y Calista and CHaisrarA, leadiMfi 

Welcome, oh, thrice welcome. 

Daughters, both of my body and my mind ! 

Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort ; 

And, Dorothea, now more welcome too. 

Than if you never had fallen off ! I am ravish'd 

With the excess of joy :— speak, happy daughters, 

The blest event. 

Cat. We never gain'd so much 
By any undertaking. 

Theoph. O my dear girl. 
Our gods reward thee ! 

Dor. Nor was ever time. 
On my part better spent. 

Christ. We are all now 
Of one opinion. 

Theoph. My best Christeta ! 
Madam, if ever you did grace to worth, 
Vouchsafe your princely hands. 

Artem. Most willingly 

Do you refuse it ? 

Cai, Let U8 firj«t deserve it. 

Theoph. My own child still ! here set our god; 
The incense <iiuckly : Come, fair Dorothea, 
I will myself support you ; — now kneel down, 
And pay your vows to Jupiter. 

Dor. I shall do it 
Better by their example. 

Theoph. They shall guide you. 
They are familiar with the sacrifice. 
Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her, 
Make a joint offering. 

Christ. Thus ITkep both spit at the imagt, 

Cal. And thus. itjtrow it down, and spurn it. 

Uairp. Profane, 



A07 111. 

And impious ! stand you now like a statue ? 
Are you the champion of the guds ? where is 
Your holy zeal, your anger ? 

Tfieoph, I am blasted ; 
And, as my feet were rooted here, I find 
I have no motion ; I would I had no sight too ! 
Or if my eyes can serve to any use, 
r;ive nie, thou injured Power 1 a sea of tears, 
To expiate this madness in my daughters ; 
For, being themselves, they would have trembled 

So blasphemous a deed in any other : [at 

For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder, 
And give me patience to demand a reason 
For this accursed act. 

Dor. 'Twas ^bravely done. 
Thifoph. Peace, damn'd enchantress, peace ! — I 
should look on you 
With eyes made red with fury, and my hand, 
That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my 

And seal my vengeance on your hearts ; — ^but 

To you that have fallen once, bids me again 
To be a father. Oh ! how durst you tempt 
The nnger ut' great Jove ? 

Dor, Alack, poor Jove I 
He is no swaggerer ; how smug he stands ! 
He'll take a kick, or anything. 
Sap, Stop her mouth. 

Dor. It is the patient'st godling ! do not fear 
him ; 
He would not hurt the thief that stole away 
Two of his golden locks ; indeed he could not : 
And «till 'tis the same quiet thing. 

Theoph. Blasphemer ! 
Ingenious cruelty shall punish this : 
Thou art pa>t hope: but for yon yet, dear 

Again bewitch'd, the dew of mild forgiveness 
May gently fall, provided you deserve it, 
With true contrition : be yourselves again ; 
Sue ro the offended deity. 

Christ. Not to be 
The mistress of the earth. 

Cal. I will not offer 
A grain of incense to it, much less kneel, 
Nor look on it but witli contempt and 8<*orn, 
To have a thouMind years conferr'd U|>on ;ne 
Of worldly blessings. We profess ourselves 
To be, like Dorothea, Christians ; 
And owe her for that happiness. 

Theoph. My ears 
Retreive, in hearing this, all deadly charms, 
Powerful to make man wretched. 

A r tern. Are these they 
You brngi^'d could convert others ! 

Sap, That want strength 
To stand, themselves I 

liar p. Y'our honour is engasred. 
The rredit of your cause depends upon it : 
Something you must do suddenly. 
Thfoph. And I will. 

Larp. They merit death ; but, falling by your 
*Twill be recorded for a just revenge, [baud, 

And holy fury in you. 

Theoph, Do not blow 
The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already ; 
ifitna is in my breast, wildfire bums here. 
Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power ! 
Which from my infancy I have adored. 

LfOok down with favourable beams upon 

The .sacrifice, though not allow 'd thy priest. 

Which I will offer to thee ; and be pleased, 

My fiery zeal inciting me to act, 

To call that justice others may style murder. 

Come, you accurs'd, thus by the hair I drag you 

Before this holy altar ; thus look on you. 

Less pitifiil than tigers to their prey : 

And thus, with mine own hand, I tidce that life 

Which I gave to you. IKilU them. 

Dor, O most cruel butcher ! 

Theoph, My anger ends not here: hell's dread- 
ful porter. 
Receive into thy ever-open gates 
Their damned souls, and let the Furies' whips 
On them alone be wasted ; and, when death 
Closes these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to me 
To hear their shrieks and bowlings. Make me, 

Thy instrument to furnish thee vrith souls 
Of that accursed sect ; nor let me fall. 
Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all. 

lEjcU, with IIartaz, 

Artem. 'Tb a brave zeal. 

Enter AMOKLOf imiling. 

Dor. Oh, call him back again. 
Call back your hangman ! here's one prisoner left 
To be the subject of his knife. 

Artem. Not so ; 
We are not so near reconciled unto thee ; 
Thou shalt not perish such an easy way. 
Be she your charge, Sapritius, now ; and suffer 
None to come near her, till we have found out 
Some torments worthy of her. 

Atiff, Courage, mistress; 
These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate ; 
You shall exceed them, and not imitate. lExeurt 

SCENE III. — A Jioom in Dorothea's House. 
Enter Spunoius arui IIirciub, rapped, at opposite tloort, 

Itir, Spungius ! 

Spun. My fine rogue, how is it? how goes this 
tatttfred world ? 

Ilir. Hast any money ? 

Spun. Money ! no. The tavern ivy clings 
about my money, and kills it. Hast thou any 
money ? 

Hir. No. My money is a mad bull ; and find- 
ing any gap opened, away it runs. 

Spun, 1 see then a tavern and a bawdyhouse 
have faces much alike ; the one^ hath red grates 
next the door, the other hath peeping-holes within 
doors : the tavern hath evermore a bush, the 
bawdyhouse sometimes neither hedge nor bnsh. 
From a tavern a man comes reeling ; from a 
bnwdyhouse, not able to stand. In the tavern you 
nre cozen'd with paltry wine ; in a bawdyhouse, 
by a painted whore : money may have wine, and a 
wliore will have money ; but to neither can you 
cry Drawer, you rogue ! or. Keep door, rotten 
bawd I without a silver whistle: — We are justly 
{liauued, therefore, for nmning from our mistress. 

Hir, Thou didst: I did not: Yet I had run 
too, but that one gKve me turpentine pills, and 
that staid my running. 

Spun. Well I the thread of my life is drawn 
through the needle of necessity, whjse eye, look* 

toDni m* 



inf upoQ my lousy breeches, cries oat if cannot 
Bend them ; which so pricks the liningK of my 
bo^y, (and those aie. heart, lightSt loogs, guts and 
midriff,) that I beg on my knws, to have Atropns, 
the tailor to the Destinies, to take her sheers, miiH 
cut my thread in two ; or to heat the iron goose 
of mortality, and so press me to death. 

Hir, Sure thy ikther was some botcher, and 
thy httngry ti^ngne bit off these shreds of c«im. 
plaiafes, to patch ap the elbows of thy nitrv 

Spmn, And what was thy fiither ? 

HW. A low-minded cohler, a cobler whose 
seal set many a woman upright ; the remembrance 
of whose awl (I now having nothing) thrusts such 
•curvy stitches into my soul, that the heel of my 
happiness b gone awry. 

Smm. Pity that e'er thou trod'st thy shoe awry. 

Hir, Long I cannot last ; for all sowterly wax 
of comfort melting away, and misery taking the 
length of my foot, it boots not me to sue for life, 
when all my hopes are seam-rent, and go wet- 

SfiMM, Thb shows thou art a cobler's son, by 
gmng through stitch : O Hirctus, would thou and 
1 were so happy to be coblers ! 

//tr. So would I ; for both of us being wenry 
of our lives, should then be sure of shoemakers' 

Sjmn. I see the beginning of my end, for I am 
almost starved. 

Hir. So am not 1 ; but I am more than 

Spun. All the members in my body are in a 
rebellion one against another. 

//tr. So are mine ; and nothing but a cook, 
being a constable, can appease them, presenting 
to my noie, instead of his painted staff, a spit full 
of roast meat. 

Spun, But in this rebellion, what uproars do 
th^y make ! my belly cries to my mouth, Why dost 
not crape and feed me ? 

Hir. And my mouth sets out a throat to my 
hand. Why dnst not thou lift up meat, and cram 
my chops with it ? 

Spun. Tlien my hand hath a fling at mine 
ryes, because they look not out, and shark for 

Hir. Which mine eyes seeing, full of tears, 
cry aloud, and curse my feet, for not ambling up 
and down to feed colon : sithence if good meat 
be in any place, 'tis known my feet can smell. 

Spun. But then my feet, like lazy rogues, lie 
stiU, and had rather do nothing, than run to and 
fro to purchase anything. 

JEftr. Why, among so many millions of people, 
should thou and I only be miseraole tatterdemul- 
Boos, ragamuffins, and lousy desperates ? 

Spun. Thou art a mere I-am-an-o, I-am-an-as : 
consider the whole world, and *tis as we are. 

Hir. Lousy, beggarly ! thou whoreson assa 
fiortida ? 

Spun. Worse; all tottering, all out of frame, 
thou foolianiini ! 

Hir. As how, arsenic ? come, make the world 

Spun. Old honour goes on crutches, beggary 

rides caroched ; honest men make feasts, knaves 

•ic at tables, cowards are lapp'd in velvet, soldiers 

wm we) in rags ; beauty tumi whore, whore bawd. 

and both die of the pox : why then, when all the 
world stumbles, should thou and I walk upright 1 
Hir, Stop, look 1 who's yonder ? 

Enter Anoblo. 

Spun. Fellow Angelo ! how does my little man? 

jlng. Yes ; 
And would you did so too ! Where are your clothes •' 

//tr. Clothes ! You see every woman almost gc 
in her loose gown^and why should not we have 
our chtthes loose ? 

Spun. Would they were loose ! 

jiuf/. WTiy, where are they ? 

Spun. Where many a velvet cloak, I warrant, 
at this hour, keeps them company ; they are 
pawned to a broker. 

Anff. Why pawn'd ? where's all the gold I left 
with you ? 

Hir. The gold ! we put that into a scrivener'k 
hands, and he hath cosen*d us. 

Spun. And therefore, I prithee, Angelo. if thou 
hast another purse, let it be confiscate, and brought 
to devastation. 

Ang. Are you made all of lies ? I know which 
Your guilt-wing'd pieces flew. I will no more 
Be mockM by you : be sorry for your riots, 
Tame your wild flesh by labour ; eat the bread 
Got with hard hands ; let sorrow be your whip, 
To draw drops of repentance from your heart : 
When I read this amendment in your eyes, 
You shall not want ; till then, my pity dies. 


Spun, Is it not a shame, that this scurvy pucrilis 
should give us lessons ? 

IJir. I have dwelt, thou know*st, a long time in 
the suburbs of consrjence, and they are ever bawdy ; 
but now my heart shall take a house within thi* 
walls of honesty. 

Enter IIarpax Ixhind. 

Spun. O you drawers of wine, draw me no more 
to tlie bar of beggary ; the sound of Score a pottle 
of sackf is worse than the noise of a sculdmg 
oyster wench, or two cats incorporating. 

Harp. This must not be — 1 do not like when 

Thaws: keep her frczen ««tin. [Comes forward.'] 

How now, my masters! 
Dejected? drooping? drown'd in tears? clothes 

torn ? 
Lean, and ill colour'd? sighing? where's the 

Which raises all these mischiefs ? I have seen yo 
Drawn better on't. () ! but a spirit told me 
You both would come to this, when in you thrust 
Yourselves into the service of that ladv, 
Who shortly now must die. Where's now hei* 

praying ? 
What good got you by wearing out your feet. 
To run on scurvy errands to the poor. 
And to bear money to a sort of rogues, 
And lousy prisoners ? 

Hir. Pox on them ! I never prospered since 1 
did it. 

Spun, Had I been a pagan still, I should not 
have spit white for want of drink ; but come to any 
vintner now, and bid him trust me, becausr I 
turned Christian, and he cries, Toh 1 



Atrr ni. 

Ilnrp. You're rightr? served; Kefore that |>eevish 
Hud to do with jou, women, wine, nnd money 
Flow'd in abundance with you, did it not ? 

Ifir. Oh, those days ! those days ! 

Harp. Beat not your breasts, tear not yonr hair 
in madness : 
Those days shall come a^tn, be mled by me ; 
And better, mark me, better. 

Spttn. I ha\'e seen you, sir. as I take it, an at* 
tendant on the lord Theophilus. 

Harp. Yes, yes; in shew his servant: but — 
hark, hither I— 
Take heed nobody listens. 

Spun. Not a mouse stirs. 

Harp. I am a prince dis^ised. 

Hir. Disguised ! how ? drunk ? 

Harp. Yes, my fine boy ! I*U drink too, and be 
drunk : 
I am a prince, and any man by me. 
Let him bat keep my rules, shall soon grow rich, 
Eioeeding rich, most infinitely rich : 
He that shall senre me, is not starved from plea- 
Km other poor knaves are ; no, take their filL 

Spun. But that , sir, we're so rairged 

Harp. YouMl say, you*d serve me ' 

Hir. Before any master under the zodiac. 

Harp. For clothes no matter; I've a mind to 
And one thing I like in you ; now that yon see 
The bonfire of your lady's state burnt out, 
Yon give it over, do von not ? 

Hir. Let her be hang'd ! 

Spun. And pox'd ! 

Harp. Why, now you're mine ; 
Come, let my bosom touch yoa. 

Spun. We have bugs, sir. 

Harp. There's money, fetch your clothes home; : 
there's for you. 

Hir. Avoid, vermin ! give over our mistress ; a 
man cannot prosper worse, if he serve the devil. 

Harp. How! the devil? I'll tell you what now 
of the devil, 
He's no such horrid creature ; cloven -footed. 
Black, saucer*eyed, his nostrils breathing fire. 
As these Iving Christians make him. 

Both. No! 

Harp. He's more loving 
1*0 man, than man to man is. 

Hir. Is he so ? Would we two might come 
acquainted with him . 

Harp. You shall . he's a wondrous good fellow, 
loves a cup of wine, a whore, anything; if you 
have money, it's ten to one but I'll bring him to 
some tavern to yoa or other. 

Spun. I'll bespeak the best room in the hoose 
for liim 

Harp. Some people he cannot endure. 

Hir. We'll give him no such cause. 

Harp, He hates a civil lawyer, as a soldier does 
I peace. 

Spun. How a commoner ? 

Harp. Loves him from the teeth outward. 

Spun. Pray, my lord and prince, let me en- 
counter yoa with one foolish question: does the 
devil eat any mace in his broth ? 

Harp. Exceeding much, when his bomiDg fever 

takes him : and then be has the knuckles of a 
bailiff boiled to his breakfast. 

Hir. Then, my lord, he loves a catdipole, does 
he not .' 

Harp, As a bearward doth a dog. A catchpole ! 
he hath sworn, if ever he dies, to make a seijeant 
his heir, and a veoman his overseer! 

Spun. How if he come to any great man's gate, 
will the ]x>rter let him come in. sir ? 

Harp. Oh ! he loves porters of great men's 
gates, because they are ever so near the wicket. 

Htr. Do not they whom he makes much on. for 
all his atroaking their cheeks, lead hellish lives 
under him ? 

Harp. No, no, no, no ; he wiU be d«mn*d be- 
fore he harts any man : do bat yoo (when yoa are 
throughly acquainted with him) ask for anything, 
see if it does not come. 

Spun. Anything! 

Harp. Call for a delicate rare whore, she is 
brought ton. 

Hir. Oh! my elbow itches. Will the devil 
keep the door ? 

Harp. Be drunk as a beggar, he helps yon home. 

Spun. O my fine devil ! some watchman, I 
warrant ; I wonder who is his constable. 

Harp. Will yoa swear, roar, sma^ger ? he claps 

Hir. How ? on the chaps ? 

Harp. No, on the shoulder ; and cries, O, my 
brave boys ! Will any of you kill a man ? 

Spun. Y'es, yes; I, I. 

Harp. What is his word ? Hang ! hang ! 'tis 
nothing Or stab a woman ? 

Hir. Yes, yes ; 1, I. 

Harp. Here is the worst word he gives yoa : 
A pox on't, go on ! 

Hir. O inveigling rascal ! — I am ravish'd. 

Harp. 60, get your clothes ; tarn ap your glass 
of youth, 
And let the sands run merrily : nor do I care 
From what a lavish hand your money flies. 
So you give none away to beg^;ars 

Hir. Hang them ! 

Harp. And to the scrubbing poor. 

Hir. I'll see them hang'd first. 

Harp. One service you must do me. 

Both. Anything. 

Harp. Your muttress, Dorothea, ere she suffers. 
Is to he put to tortures : have you hearts 
To tear her into shrieks, to fetch her soul 
Up in *^he pangs of death, yet not to die ? 

Hir. Suppose this she, and that I had no hands, 
here's my teeth. 

Spun. Suppose this she, and that I had no teeth, 
here's my nails. 

Hir. But will not yoa be there, sir ? 

Harp. No, not for hills of diamonds ; the grand 
Who schools her in the Christian discipline. 
Abhors my company : should 1 be there, 
You*d think all hell broke loose, we should so 

Ply yoa this bosiness ; he, her flesh who spares. 
Is lost, and in my love never more shares. lExit. 

Spun. Here's a master, you rogue ! 

Hir. Sure he cannot choose but have a horrible 
number of servants. lEretimL 

WKNB 1. 




SCENE l.— The GoTcmor's Palace. 

Ajnomwus cm a courk, asfetp, vritk Doctors about himi 
&APftiTtt» and MAPiUNUik 

Sap, O Tou, that are half gods, lengthen that 
Their deities lend as ; turn o*er all the volumes 
Of your mjnterious iiilsculapian science, 
T' increase the nainber of tuis young man's days : 
And, for each minute of his time prolong'd. 
Your fee shall be a piece of Roman gold 
With Cesar's stamp, such as he bends his captains 
MThen in the wan* they e>trn well : do but save him. 
And, as he's h.-tlf myself, be you all mine. 

1 Doet, What art can do, we promise ; physic's 
As apt M to destroy as to preserve, [hand 

If hraTen make not the med'cine : all this while, 
Our skill hath combat held with his disease ; 
But 'tis so arm'd, and a deep melancholy, 
To be such in part with death, we are in fear 
The grave must mock our labours. 

Mae, I have been 
His keeper in this sickness, with such eyes 
At I hare seen my mother watch o'er me ; 
And, from that observation, sure I find 
It if a midwife must deliver him. 

Sap. Is he with child? a midwife 1 

Mae. Yes, with child ; 
And will, I fear, lose life, if by a woman 
He is not brought to bed. Stand by his pillow 
Some little while, and, in his broken slumbers. 
Him shall you hear cry out on Dorothea; 
And, when his arms 'fly open to catch her. 
Closing together, he faJls fast asleep, . 
Pkraard with embracings of her airy form. 
Physicians but torn.ent him, his disease 
laughs at their gihberish language ; let him hear 
The voice of Uorothf a, nay, but the name. 
He »tarts up with high colour in his face : 
She» or none, cures him ; and how that can be, 
Tlir princess' strict command barring that happi- 
To me impossible seems. [ness, 

Stip. To nie it ^hall not ; 
ril be no snbject to the greatest Cflpsar 
Was ever crown 'd with laurel, rather than cease 
To be a father. ' lExit. 

Mae. Silence, sir, he wakes. 

Anton. Thou kilfst me, Dorothea ; oh, Doro- 

Mac. She's here : — enjoy her. [tUea ! 

Anton. Where ? Why do you mock nie? 
Age on my head hath stuck no white hairs yet, 
Yet I'm an old mnn. a fond doating fool 
Upon a woman. I, to buy her beauty, 
< hi truth I am bewitch'd,) offer my life, 
Aiid Khe, for my acquiiintance, hdzanis hers : 
Yrr. for our equal ftuflerings, none holds out 
A hand of pity. 

] Doct. Let him have some music. 

Anton, Hell on your fidling ! 

IS/arting/rpm his couch. 

1 Doct. Take again your bed, sir ; 
Slrrp is a sovereign physic. 

Anton. Take an a.-s's head, sir : 
ru'.fu.Hioii on your fooleries, your charms ? — 
Tl.uu otinkiiij; tiyj'trr-pipe, wliere's the god of rest, 
Tr«v pilU (lid b.ife a; othec.-iry drugs 
TtireaftuM to bring unto me ? Out, you impostors I 

Quacksalving, cheating mountebanks ! your skill 
Is to make sound men sick, and sick men kill. 

Mae. Oh, be yourself, dear frieud. 

Anton, Myself, Macrinusl 
How can I be myself, when I am mangled 
Into a thousand pieces ? here moves my head. 
But Where's my heart ? wherever — chat lies dead, 

lU-€nUr SAparrius, dragging in Dorothba bp the hair, 
Anokix) /oUowinp. 

Sap. Follow me, thou damn'd sorceress ! Call 
up thy spirits, 
And, if they can, now let them from my hand 
Untwine these witching hairs. 

Anton. I am that spirit : 
Or, if I be not, were you not my father. 
One made of iron should hew that hand in pieces^ 
That so defaces this sweet monument 
Of my love's beauty. 

Sap. Art thou sick ? 

Anton. To death. 

Sap. Wouldst thou recover ? 

Anton. Would I live in bliss ! 

Sap. And do thine eyes shoot daggers at that 
That brings thee health ? [man 

Anton, It is not in the world. 

Sap. It's here. 

Anton. To treasure, by enchantment lock'd 
In caves as deep as hell, am 1 as near. 

Sap. Break that enchanted cave: enter, and 
The spoils thy lust hunts after ; I descend [riHe 
To a base office, and become thy pander, 
In bringing thee this proud thing : make her th) 

Thy health lies here ; if she denv to give it. 
Force it : imagine thou assault'st a town's 
Weak wall ; to't, 'tis thine own, but beat this down 
Come, and, unseen, be witness to this battery. 
How the coy strumpet yields. 

1 Doct. Shall the boy stay, sir ? 

Sap. No matter for the boy : — pages are use<l 
To these odd bawdy shufflings ; and, indeed, aro 
Those little young snakes in a Fury's head. 

Will sting worse than the great ones. 

Let the pimp stay. lExeunt Sap,, Mac, ami Doer. 

Dor. O, guard me, angels ! 
WHiat tragedy must begin now ? 

Anton. When a tiger 
Leaps into a timorous herd, with ravenous jaws, 
Being hungcr-starv'd. what tragedy then begins ? 

Dor. Death ; I am happy so; you, hitherto, 
Have still had goodness sphered within your eyes* 
Let not that orb be broken. 

Ang. Fear not, mistress ; 
If he dare offer violence, we two 
Are strong enough for such a sickly man. 

Dor. What is your horrid purpose, sir? your 
Rears danger in it. [eye 

Anton. I must 

Dor. What? 

Sap. [within.] Speak it out. 

Anton. Climb that Mweet virgin tree. 

Sap. [within.] Plague o' your trees ! 

Anton. And [^luck that fruit which none, I think, 
e'er tasted. 

Sap. [within.] A soldier, and stand fumbling so ! 

Dor. Oh, kill me, ^ [Kn<cU 




And heaven will take it as a sacrifice ; 
But, if you play the ravisber, there is 
A hell to swallow you. 

Sap. [within. ] Let her swallow thee ! 

Anion, Rise : — for the Romnn empire, Dorothea, 
I would DOt wound thine honour. Pleasures forced, 
Are unripe apples ; sour, not worth the plucking : 
Yet, let me tell you, 'tis my father's will, 
That I should seise upon you, as my prey ; 
Which I abhor, as much as the blackest sin 
The Tillainy of man did ever act. 

[Sapritius hreaks in with Hacrii* oa. 

Dor, Die happy for this language 1 

Sap. Die a slave, 
A blockish idiot ! 

Mae. Dear sir, vex him not. 

Sap, Yes, and vex thee too ; bbth, I think, are 
geldings ; 
Cold, phlegmatic bastard, thou'rt no brat of mine ; 
One spark of me, when I had heat like thine. 
By this had made a bonfire : a tempting whore, 
For whom thou'rt mad, thrust e'en into thine arms. 
And stand'st thou puling ! Had a tailor seen her 
At this advantage, he, with his cross capers. 
Had ruffled her by this : but thou shalt curse 
Thy dalliance, and here, before her eyes. 
Tear thy own flesh in pieces, when a slave 
In hot lust bathes himself, and gluts those plea- 
Thy niceness durst not touch. Call out a slave ; 
You, captain of our guard, fetch a slave hither. 

Anton, What will you do, dear sir ? 
I Sap, Teach her a tnde, which many a one would 
In less than half an hour, — to play the whore. 

Enter Soldiers wttk a Slave. 

Mae. A slave is come ; what now ? 

Sap. Thou hast bones and flesh 
Enough to ply thy labour ; from what country 
Wert thou ta en prisoner, here to be our slave ? 

Slave, Prom Britain. 

Sap. In the west oceafi ? 

Slave, Yes. 

Sap. An island ? 

Slave. Yes. 

Sap. Vm fitted : of all nations 
Our Roman swords e'er conquer'd, none comes 
The Briton for true whoring. Sirrah fellow, [near 
What wouldst thou do to gain thy liberty ? 

Slave. Do 1 liberty ! fignt naked with a lion. 
Venture to pluck a standard from the heart 
Of an arm'd legion. Liberty ! I'd thus 
Bestride a rampire, and defiance spit 
I' the face of death, then, when the battering ram 
I Was fetching his career backward, tu pash 

Me with his horns in pieces To shake my chains 
I And that I could not do't but by thy death, [off, 
\ Stoodst thou on this dry shore, I on a rock 
Ten pyramids high, down would I leap to kill thee, 
Or d\e myself : what is for man to do, 
rU venture on, to be no more a slave. 

Sap, Thou shalt, then, be no slave, for I will set 
Upon a piece of work is fit for man ; [thee 

Brave for a Briton :~-drag that thing aside. 
And ravish her. 

Slave. And ravish her ! is this your manly ser- 
A devil scorns to do it ; 'tis for a beast, [vice ? 
A villain, not a man : I am, as yet. 
But half a idave ; but, when that work is |>ast» 

SCENE ll,^A PubHe Square. 
Enter IIarpaz, Hiaaos, and SvoirvinB. 

Harp, Do you like my service now ? say, am 
A master worth attendance ? [not I 

Spun. Attendance ! I had rather lick clean the 
soles of your dirty boots, than wear the richest 
suit of any infected lord, whose rotten life hangs 
between the two poles. 

Ilir. A lord's suit ! I would not give up the 
cloak of your service, to meet the splayfoot estate 
of any lett-eyed knight above the antipodes ; be- 
cause they are unlucky to meet. 

Harp. This day TU try your loves to me ; tis 
But well to use the a^^ility of your arms. [oul/ 

Spun. Or legs, I am lusty at thenu 

Ilir. Or any other member that has no Ifpu 

Spun. Thou'lt run into some hok. 

A damned whole one, a black ugly slave. 

The slave of all base stiaves ; — do't thyself, Roman. 

'Tifi drud^ry fit for thee. 

Sap, He's bewitch'd too : 
Bind him, and witlia bastinado give him. 
Upon his naked belly, two hundred blows. 

Slave. Thou art more slave than I. 

r//e it carried t«. 

Dor. That Power supernal, on whom waits my 
Is captain o'er my chastity. soul, 

Anton. Good sir, give o'er : 
The more you wrong her, yourselfs vex'd the more. 

Sap, Plagues light on her and thee ! — thus down 
I throw 
Thy harlot, thus by the hair nail her to earth. 
Call in ten slaves, let every one discover 
What lust desires, and surfeit here his filL 
Call in ten slaves. 

Enter Slaves. 

Mac, They are come, sir, at your call. 

Sap. Oh, oh ! IFaUt down. 

Enter TnaoraiLoa. 

Theoph. Where is the governor ? 

Anton, There's my wretched father. 

Theoph. My lord Sapritius — he's not dead! — 
That witch there — [my lord 1 

Anton. 'Tis no Roman gods can strike 
These fearful terrors. O, thou happy maid, 
Forgive this wicked purpose of my father. 

Ditr. I do. 

Theoph. Oone, gone ; he's pepper'd. It is thou 
Hast done this act infernal. 

Dor. Heaven pardon you I 
And if my wrongs from thence pull vengeance down, 
( 1 can no miracles work,) yet, from my soul. 
Pray to those Powen I serve, he may reeover. 

Theoph. He stirs — help, raise him up, — my lordl 

S(tp. Where am IP 

Theoph. One cheek is blasted.- 

Saf. Blasted ! where's the lamia 
That 'can my entrails ? I'm bewitch'd; seise ov 

/> T I'm here ; do what you please. [her. 

Theoph. Spurn her to the bar. 

Dor. Come, boy, being there, more near to 
heaven we are. 

Sap. Kick harder ; go out, witch ! lExeunt, 

Anton. O bloody huig^en I Thine own gods 
give thee breath ! 
Each of thy tortures is my several desth. lExit. \ 

tCKNS a. 



Hir, If I meet one that's more than my match, 
and that I cannot stand in their hands, I mast and 
vill creep on my knees. 

Harp. Hear me, my little team of villains, hear 
me ; 
I cannot teach you fencing with these cudgels, 
Yet yon most use them ; lay them on but soundly ; 

Jiir, Nay, if we oome to mauling once, pah ! 

Spun, But what walnut-tree is it we must beat ? 

Hmrp, Your mistress. 

Uir. How ! my mistress ? I begin to have a 
Christian's heart made of sweet butter, I melt ; 1 
cannot strike a woman. 

Spun, Nor I, unless she scratch ; bum my mis- 

Harp, You're coxcombs, silly animals, [tress ! 

Hir, What's that ? 

Harp. Drones, asses, blinded moles, that dare 
not thrust 
Your arms out to catch fortune : say, you fall off. 
It must be done. You are converted rascals. 
And, that once spread abroad, why every slave 
Will kidc you, rail you motley Christians, 
And half-fiaoed Christians. 

Spwu The guts uf my conscience begin to be of 

Uir, I doubt me, I shall have no sweet butter 
in me. 

Hmrp. Deny this, and each pagan whom you 
Shall forked fingers thrust into your eyes 

Hir, If we be ci^ckolds. 

Hwrp. Do this, and every god the Gentiles bow 
Shall add a fathom to your line of years. [lo, 

Spun. A hundred fathom, I desire no more. 

Hir. I desire but one inch longer. 

JIurp, The senators will, as you pass along, 
Clap yon upon your shoulders with this band, 
And with this give you gold : when you are dead, 
H'ippy that man shall be, can get a nail, 
The paring. — nay, the dirt under the nail, 
iX any of you both, to say, this dirt 
Brionged to Spungius or Hircius. 

Spun. They shall not want dirt under my nailg, 
I will keep them long of purpose, for now my fin- 
gers itch to be at her. 

//tr. The first thing I do, I'll take her over the 

Spun. And I the hips, — we may strike any 
where I 

Harp. Yes, any where. 

iiir. Then I know where I'll hit her. 

Harp. Prosper, and be mine own ; stand by, I 
must not 
To see this done, great business calls me hence : 
Hr's made can make her curse his violence. lExit. 

Spun, Fear it not, sir ; her ribs shall be basted. 

Hir. ril come u|>on her with rounce, robble- 
liobble, and thwick-thwack-thirlery bouncing. 

Euttr DoaorRa4, led prisoner; SAPRmtm, THKitpuiLim, 
Anmmujt, and a Hanfrniari, wko ieU up a Pillar: Sa- 
pumf and THiioniiLus sit ; Akoklo ttandM by Duho- 
ntKA. A tiiutrd atte/uting. 

Sap, According to our Roman customs, bind 
That Chnstian to a pillar. 

Theaph. Infernal Puries, 
Could they into my hand thrust all their whips 
To ?ear thy flesh, thy sonl^ 'tis not a torture 
Fit to the vengeance I shonld heap on thee. 

Fur wrongs done me ; me ! for flagitious facts, 
By thee done to our gods : yet, so it stand 
To great Caesarea's governor's high pleasure. 
Bow but thy knee to Jupiter, and offer 
Any slight sacrifice ; or do but swear 
By Caesar's fortune, and be free. 

Sap, Thou shalt. 

Dor, Not for all Caesar's fortune, were it chain'd 
To more worlds than are kingdoms in the world. 
And all those worlds drawn after him. I defy 
Your hangmen ; you now shew uie whither to fly. 

Sap. Are her tormentors ready ? 

yl/*jf.* Shrink not, dear mistress. 

Spun, and Hir. My lord, we are ready for the 

Dor, You two ! whom I like foster'd children 
And lengthen'd out your starved life with bread. 
You be my hangmen ! whom, when up the ladder 
Death haled you to be strangled, I fetch 'd down. 
Clothed you, and warm'd you, you two my tor- 

Both. Yea, we. [mentors ! 

Dor, Divine Powers pardon-you ! 

Sap. Strike. 

IThejf strike at her : Anoelo kneeling holds her/as^ 

Tkeoph, Beat out her brains. 

Dor. Receive me, yuu bright angels ! 

Sap. Faster, slaves. 

Spun. Faster ! I am out of breath, I am sure ; 
if I were to beat a buck. I can strike no harder. 

Hir, O mine arms ! I cantiot lift them to my 

Dor. Joy above joys ! are my tormentors weary 
In torturing me, and, in my sufferings, 
I fainting in no limb \ tyrants, strike home. 
And feast your fury full. 

Theoph. These dogs are curs, 

[Comet /row hit seat. 
Which snarl, yet bite not. See, my lord, her face 
Has more bewitching beauty than before : 
Proud wliore, it suiiies ! cannot an eye start out, 
With these ? 

Hir. No, sir, nor the bridge of her nose full ; 
'tis full of iron-work. 

Sap, Let's view the cudgels, are they not coun- 
teifeit ? 

Ang. Tliere fix thine eye still; — thy glorious 
crown must come 
Not from soft pleasure, but by martyrdom. 
There fix thine eye still ; — when we next do meet. 
Not thorns, but roses, shall bear up thy feet : 
There fix thine eye still. C/i>«<. 

Dor, Ever, ever, ever ! 

Enter ITarpax, sneaking. 
Theoph. We're mock'd ; these bats have power 
Yet her skin is not scarr'd. [to fell down giants. 
Sap. What rogues are these ? 
Tfieoph. Cannot these force a shriek } 

[Dealt Pn'worPR. 
Spun. Oh ! a woman has one of my ribs, and 
now five more are broken. 

Theoph. Cannot this make her roar.' 

[Jieatt IliruiiTA ; he roar*. 
Sop. Who hired these slaves } what are they ? 
Spun. We serve that noble gentleman, tlien- ; 
he enticed us to this dry beating : oh ! for one hadf 

Harp, My servants ! two l>ase rogues nnd 8omi> 
time servants 
To her, and for that cause forbear to hurt her. 




Sap. Unbind her ; hanf np these. 

Theoph, Uani^ the two hounds on the next tree. 

Hir. Hang as ! master Harpax, what a deril, 
shall we be thus nsed ? 

Harp. What bandogs bat yoa two woald worry 
a woman ? 
Tour mistress ? I bat clapt yoo, yoo flew on. 
Say 1 should get your lives, each rascal beggar 
Would, when he met yoa, cry out. Hell-hounds ! 

traitors ! 
Spit at you, fling dirt at you ; and no woman 
Ever endure your sight : 'tis your best course 
Now, had you secret knives, to stab your^rea ; — 
But. since you have not, go and be hang*d. 

Hir, I thank you. 

Harp. Tis your best course. 

Theoph. Why stay they trifling here ? 
To the gallows drag them by the heels ; — away ! 

Spun. By the heels ! no, sir, we have legs to do 
us that service. 

Hir. Ay, ay, if no woman can endure my sight, 
away with me. 

Harp. Dispatch them. 

Spun. The devil dispatch thee ! 

[£mm< Ooard with Srciceirs and Hiacivs. 

Sap. Death this day rides in triumph, Theo- 
See this witch made away too. [philus. 

Theoph. My soul thirsts for it ; 
Come, I myself the hangman's part could play. 

Dor, O baste me to my coronation day ! 


SCENE III — The Place of Execution. A 
Scafoid, Block, ^c 

Enter Ainomiroa, tupporUd Ay Maoumos, and Servants. 

Anton. Is this the place, where virtue b to 
And heavenly beauty, leavmg this base earth. 
To make a glad return from whence it came ? 
Is it, Macrinus ? 

Mac. By thb preparation. 
You well may rest assured that Dorothea 
This hour is to die here. 

Anton. Then with her dies 
The abstract of all sweetness that's in woman ! 
Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron hand 
Of death close up mine eyes, they may at once 
Take my last leave both of this light and her : 
For, she being gone, the glorious sun himself 
To me's Cimmerian darkness. 

Miic. Strange affection ! 
Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with 
And kills, instead of giring life. [Death, 

Anton, Nay, weep not ; 
Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm, 
On me they're cast away. It is decreed 
That I must die with her ; our clue of life 
Was spun together. 

Mae, Yet, sir, 'tis my wonder. 
That you, who, hearing only what she suffers. 
Partake of all her tortures, yet will be. 
To add to your calamity, an eye-witness 
Of her last tragic scene, which most pierce deeper. 
And make the wound more desperate. 

Anion, Oh, Macrinus! 
'Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me, 
Which is the end I aim at : being to die too. 
What instrument more glorious can I wish for. 
Than waat is made sharp by my constant love 

.\nd true affection ? It may be, the duty 
And loyal service, with which I pursued her. 
And seal'd it with my death, will be remrmher'd 
Among her blessed actions : and what honour 
Can 1 desire beyond it ? 

Enter a Gnard brinjrinff in DtmmntA. « Hcadwnan bt/nre 
her; /vUtmed Ay TaaomLca, SApainin, and Uabtax. 

See, she comes ; 
How sweet her innocence appears ! more like 
To heaven itself, than any sacrifice 
That can be offer'd to it. By my hopes 
Of joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtful 
In my belief ; nor can I tlunk our gods 
Are good, or to be served, that take delight 
In offerings of this kind : that, to maintain 
Their power, de&ce the master-piece of nature. 
Which they themselves come short of. She ascends. 
And every step raises her nearer heaven. 
What god soe er thou art, that must enjoy her. 
Receive in her a boundless happiness ! 

Sap. You are to blame 
To let him come abroad. 

Mac, It was his will ; | 

And we were left to serve him, not command him. 

Anton. Good sir, be not offended ; nor deny 
My last of pleasures in this happy object. 
That I shall e'er be blest with. 

Theoph. Now, proud contemner 
Of us, and of our gods, tremble to think 
It is not in the Power thou serv'st to save thee. 
Not all the riches of the sea, increased 
By riolent shipwrecks, nor the unsearch'd mines. 
(Mammon's unknown exchequer,) shall redeem 

And, therefore, having first with horror weigh 'd 
What 'tis to die, and to die young ; to part with 
All pleasures and delights ; lastly, to go 
Where all antipathies to comfort dwell. 
Furies behind, about thee, and before thee ; 
An^, to add to affliction, the remembrance 
Of the Elysian joys thou might'st have tasted, 
Hadst thou not tum*d apostata to those gods 
That so reward their servants ; let despair 
Prevent the hangman's sword, and on this acaffiild 
Make thy first entrance into helL 

Anton, She smiles. 
Unmoved, by Mars ! as if she were assured 
Death, looking on her constancy, would forget 
The use of bis inevitable hand. 

Theoph. Derided too ! dispatch, I say. 

Dor. Thou fool! 
That gloriest in having power to ravish 
A trifle from me I am weary of. 
What is this life to me ? not worth a thought ; 
Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that 1 lose it 
To win a better : even thy malice serves 
To me but as a ladder to mount up 
To such a height of happiness, where I shall 
Look down with scorn on thee, and on the world ; 
Where, circled with true pleasures, planed above 
The reach of death or time, 'twill be my glory 
To think at what an easy price 1 bought it. 
There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth : 
No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat, 
Famine, nor age, have any being there. 
Forget, for shame, your Tempe ; bury m 
Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards : — 
The gulden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon 
Which did require a Hercules to get it. 




Compared with what grows io all plenty there, 
Drverret not to be named. The Power I serve, 
Uinghs at your happy Araby, or the 
RIy»i«n shades ; for he hath made his bowers 
Better in deed, than you can fancy yours. 

AfUoH^ O, take me thither with yon \ 

Dor. Trace my steps. 
And be assured you shall. 

Sap. With my own hands 
I'll rather stop that little breath is left thee, 
And rob thy killing fever. 

TAfopA. By no means ; 
Let him go with her : do, seduced young man, 
And wait upon thy saint in death ; do, do : 
And, when yon come to that imagined place, 
That place of all ddights — pray you, observe me. 
And meet those cursed things 1 once called 

Whom I have sent as haibingers before you ; 
If there be any truth in your religion, 
In thankfulness to me, that with care hasten 
Your jonmey thither, pray you send me some 
Small pittance of that curious fruit you boast of. 

Anton. Grant that I may go with her, and I will. 

Sop. Wilt thou in thy last minute damn thyself? 

Tkeoph. The gates to hell are open. 

Dor. Know, thou tyrant, 
Thou agent for the devil, thy great master, 
Though thon art most unworthy to taste of it, 
I can, and wiU. 

BnUr Anaau), in the AngeF* kabU. 

Hmrp. Oh ! mountains fall upon me, 
fV hide me in the bottom of the deep. 
Where light may never find me ! 

TiWopA. What's the matter ? 

Sop. This is prodigious, and confirms her witch- 

Tkeopk. Harpaz, my Harpax, speak ! [craft. 

Horp. I dare not stay : 
Should I but hear her once more, I were lost. 
Some whirlwind snatch me from this cursed place, 
To which compared, (and with what now I suffer,) 
Hell's torments are sweet slumbers ! iEjcit. 

Sop. Follow him. 

Theoph. He is distracted, and I must not lose 
Thy charms upon my servant, cursed witch, [him. 
Give thee a short reprieve. Let her not die. 
Till my return. lExeurU Bap. and Thkqph. 

Anion. She minds him not : what object 
Is her eye fix'd on ! 

Mac. I see nothing. 

Anion. Mark her. [serve I 

Dor. Thou glorious minister of the Power I 
f For thou art more than mortal,) is't for me, 
Poor sinner, thon art pleased awhile to leave 
Th; heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest, 

Though glorified, to take my servant's habit ? 

For. pot off thy divinity, so look'd 
My lovely Angelo. 

An^, Know, I am the same ; 
And atiil the servant to your piety. [me, 

^ow zealous prayers, and pious deeds first won 
(But 'twas by His command to whom you sent 
To guide your steps. 1 tried your charity, [them) 
Wbeo in a beggar's shape you took me up, 
And clothed my naked hmbs, and after fed, 
Aa yon believed, my famiah'd month. Learn all, 
By your example, to look on the poor 
With gentle eyes 1 for in surh habits, often, 
Angela desire an alma. 1 never left you, 

Nor will I now ; for I am sent to carry 
Your pure and innocent soul to joys eternal, 
Your martyrdom once suffer'd ; and before it. 
A»k anything from me, and reit assured, 
You shall obtain it 

Dor. I am largely paid 
For all my torments. Since I find such g^ce, 
Grant that the love of this young man to me, 
in which he languisheth to death, may be 
Changed to the love of Heaven. 

Ang. I will perform it ; 
And in that instant when the sword sets free 
Your happy soul, his shall have liberty. 
Is there aught else ? 

Dor. For proof that I forgive 
My persecutor, who in scorn desired 
To taste of that most sacred firuit 1 go to ; 
After my death, as sent from me, be pleased 
To give him of it 

Ang, Willingly, dear mistress. 

Mae, 1 am amazed. 

Anion. I feel a holy fire. 
That yields a comfortable heat within me ; 
I am quite alter'd from the thing I was. 
See ! I can stand, and go alone ; thus kneel 
To heavenly Dorothea, touch her hand 
With a religious kiss. IKnteU. 

JU-en9fr Sapiutius aiuf TuaoPHiLUB. 

Sap. He is well now. 
But will not be drawn back. 

Theoph. It matters not. 
We can discharge this work without his help. 
But see your son. 

Sap. Villain! 

Anion. Sir. I beseech yon. 
Being so near our ends, divorce us not. 

Theoph. I'll quickly make a separation of them : 
Hast thou aught else to say ? 

Dor. Nothing, but to blame 
Thy tardiness in sending nie to rest ; 
My peace is made with heaven, to which my soul 
Begins to take her fiight : strike, O ! strike 

quickly ; 
And, though you are unmoved to see my death. 
Hereafter, when my story shall be read, 
As they were present now, the hearers shall 
Say this of Dorothea, with wet eyes, 
** She lived a virgin, and a virgin dies." 

iHer head U strueM off. 

Anton. O, take my soul along, to wait on thine ! 

j\fae. Your son sinks too. [Awroxi lus /ulU. 

Sap, Already dead ! 

Theoph. Die all 
That are, or favour this accursed sect : 
1 triumph in their ends, and will raise up 
A hill of their dead carcasses, to O'erlook 
The Pyrenean hills, but I'll root out 
These superstitious fools, and leave the world 
No name of Christian. 

lLou*t muiie: Exit Anoblo, hawing Jtrtt taid his hand 
upon the mouths of Anton, and Doa. 

Sap, Ha I heavenly music 1 

Mac. 'Tis in the air. 

Theoph. Illusions of the devil. 
Wrought by some witch of her religion. 
That fain would make her death a miracle ; 
It frights not me. Because he is your son. 
Let him have burial ; but let her body 
Be cast forth with contempt in some highway, 
And be to vultures and to dogs a prey. [Extomii 



Aor T. 


SCENE I. — THr.orjtii.v% discovered ntting in 
his Study : books about him. 

Theoph. Is't holiday, O Cssar, that thy serrant, 
Thy provost, to see execution done 
On these base Christians in Cassarea, 
Should now want work ? Sleep these idolaters. 
That none are stirring ? — As a curious painter, 
When he has made some honourable piece. 
Stands ofT, and with a searching eye examines 
Each colour, how 'tis sweetened ; and then hugs 
Himself for his rare workmanship — so here, 
Will I my drolleries, and bloody landscapes, 
Ix)ng past wrapt up, unfold, to make me merry 
With shadows, now I want the substances, ' 
My muster-book of hell-hounds. Were the Chris- 
Whose names stand here, alive and arm'd, not 

Could move upon her hinges. What I've done, 
Or shall hereafter, is not out of hate 
To poor tormented wretches ; no, Tm carried 
With violence of xeal, and streams of service 
I owe our Roman gods. Greai Britairif — ^what ? 

A thousand wives, with brats sucking their breasts, 
Had hot irons pinch them off, and thrown to swine ; 
And then their Jleshp back-parts, hew'd with 

Were-minced, and baked in pies, to feed starved 
Ha! ha! [Christians, 

Again, again,— .Ea«/ Angles,— i}\i. East Angles : 
Bandogs, kept three dags hungry, worried 
A thousand British rascals, stied up fat 
Of purpose, stripped naked., and disarm'd, 
I could outstare a year of suns and moons, 
To sit at these sweet bull-baitings, so I 
Could thereby but one Christian win to fall 
In adoration to my Jupiter. — Twelve hundred 
Eyes bored with augres out — Oh ! Eleven thou- 
Tom by wild beasts : two hundted ramm*d in the 

To the armpits, and full platters round about them. 
But far enough for reaching : Eat, dogs, ha 1 
ha I ha ! {He rises. 

Tush, all these tortures are but fillipings, 
Fleabi tings ; I, before the Destinies 

Enter Anoslo with a basket Jtlltd with/ruit and Jtowtrt. 

My bottom did wind up, would flesh myself 

Once more upon some one remarkable 

Above all these. This Christian slut was well, 

A pretty one ; but let such horror follow 

The next I feed with torments, that when Rome 

Shall hear it, her foundation at the sound 

May feel an earthquake. How now ? iUutie. 

Ang, Are yon amazed, sir ? 
So great a Roman spirit — and doth it tremble ! 
Theoph, How cam*st thou in? to whom thy 
Ang. To you ; [buainess ? 

I had a mistress, late sent hence by you 
Upon a bloody errand ; you entreated, 
That, when she came into that blessed garden 
Whither she knew she went, and where, now happy, 
She feeds upon all joy, she would send to you 
Some of that garden fruit and flowers ; which here, 
To have hei promise saved, are brought by me. J 

Theoph, Cannot I see this garden ? 

Ang. Yes, if the master 
Will give you entrance. IHewmnishes, 

Theoph. 'Tis a tempting fmit. 
And the most bright-cheek d child I ever yiew'd ; 
Swset smelling, goodly fruit. What flowers are 

these ? 
In Dioclesian's gardens, the most beauteous, 
Compared with these, are weeds : is it not 

The second day she died ? frost, ice, and mow. 
Hang on the beard of winter : where's the sun 
That gilds this summer ? pretty, sweet boy, say. 
In what country shall a man find this garden ? — 
My delicate boy, — gone! vanished ! within there, 
Julianus 1 Geta ! — 

Enter JuuAifvs and Grrx. 

Both, My lord. 

Theoph. Are my gates shut ? 

Geta, And guarded. 

Theoph. Saw you not 
A boy? 

Jul. Where? 

Theoph. Here he enter'd ; a young lad ; 
A thousand blessings danced upon his eyes : 
A smoothfaced, glorious thing, that brought this 

Geta, No, sir ! [basket. 

Theoph, Away — but be in reach, if my Toioe 
calls you. lExeunt Jul. and Gcta. 

No ! — vanish 'd and not seen ! — Be thou a spirit. 
Sent from that witch to mock me, I am sure 
This is essential, and however it grows. 
Will taste it. lEaU oftkefruiL 

Harp, [within.'\ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Theoph. So good ! I'll have some more, sure. 

Harp, Ha, ha, ha, ha ! great liquorish fool ! 

Theoph. What art thou ? 

Harp, A fisherman. 

Theoph, What dost thou catch ? 

Harp, Souls, souls ; a fish call'd souls. 

Theoph, Geta! 

ResnUr Gcra. 

Geta, My lord. 

Harp, [trt/Am.] Ha, ha, ha, ha I 

Theoph, Wliat insolent slare is this, dares 
Or what is't the Ao% grins at so ? [laugh at me ? 

Geta. I neither know, my lord, at what, nor 
whom ; for there is none without, but my fellow 
Julianus, and he is making a garland for Jupiter. 

Theoph. Jupiter 1 all within me is not well ; 
And yet not sick. 

Harp. [trt/Atn.] Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Theoph. What's thy name, slave ? 

Harp. [cU one end qf the room.] Go look. 

Geta. 'Tis Harpax' voice. 

Theoph. Harpax ! go, drag the caitifi* to my foot. 
That I may stamp upon him. 

Harp, [at the other endJ] Fool, thou liest 1 

Geta. He's yonder, now, my lord. 

Theoph, Watch thou that end. 
Whilst I make good this. 

Harp, [in the middle.] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Theoph. He is at barley-break, and the last 
Are now in helL [couple 

Search for him. [Exit Gkta.] All this ground, 
methinks is bloody. 

•rKNK II. 



And paved with thousands of those Christians' eyes 

Whom I have tortured ; and they stare upon me. 

U hat was this apparition ? sure it had 

A shape angelical. Mine eyes, though dazzled, 

And diuinted at first sight, tell me, it wore 

A pair of glorious wings ; yes, they were wings ; 

And hence he flew : 'tb vanish'd ! Jupiter, 

For all my sacrifices done to him, 

Nearer onoe gate me smile. — How ean stone 

smile ? 
Or wooden image laugh ? [Music. ] Ha ! I re- 
S«di mnsic gave a welcome to mine ear, 
When the fair youth came to me : — 'tis in the air. 
Or from tome better place ; a Power divine, 
Tkrougfa my dark ignorance, on my soul does shine, 
And makes me see a conscience all stain'd o'er, 
NaT«. drown'd, and damn'd for ever in Christian 

hmrp, [tvtiAm.] Ha, ha, ha ! [gore. 

Thtcph. Again! — What dainty relish on my 
This firuit haSi left ! some angel hath me fed ; 
If so toothfnU, I will be banqueted. lEaU again. 

Enter Haspaz in m fearful shape^Jire fUuking mU $f(ke 

ffmrp. Hold! 

Theoph. Not for Cesar. 

Harp. But for me thou shalt. 

Theiph, Thou art no twin to him that last was 
Ye Powers, whom my soul bids me reverence. 
What art thou ? [guard me ! 

Hmrp. I am thy matter. 

Theiph. Mine I 

Harp. And thou my everiasting slave : that 
Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy hell. 
Am L 

Theoph. Arauntl 

Harp. I will not ; cast thou down 
That basket with the things in't, and fetch up 
What thou hast swallow'd, and then take a drink, 
Which I shall give thee, and I'm gone. 

Theoph. My fruit I 
Does this offend thee ? see ! lEaU again. 

Harp. Spit it to the earth, 
And tread upon it, or I'll piecemeal tear thee. 

Theoph. Art thou with this affrighted ! see, 
here's more. [/*«//* out a handful t\fjto»ert. 

Harp. Fling them away, VVL take thee else, and 
In a contorted chain of isicles, [hang thee 

In the frigid zone : down with them ! 

Theoph. At the bottom 
One thing I found not yet. See ! 

IHoldt up a erost qfjioiefrt. 

Harp. Oh ! I am tortured. 

Theoph. Can this do't ! hence, thou fiend in- 
fernal, hence ! 

Harp. Clasp Jupiter's image, and away with 

Theoph. At thee I'll fling that Jupiter; for, 
I ft^rve a better master : he now checks me 
Vor murdering my two daughters, put on by 

thee. — 
Bj thy damn'd rhetoric did I hunt the life 
Of Dorothea, the holy Tirgin- martyr. 
She is not angry with the axe, nor me. 
But sends these presents to me ; and I'll travel 

O'er worlds to find her, and from her white hand 
Beg a forgiveness. 
Harp. No ; I'll bind thee here. 
Theoph. I serve a strength above thine ; this 
small weapon, 
Methinks, is armour hard enough. 

Harp, Keep from me. {.Sinks a little, 

Theoph. Art posting to thy centre? down, hell- 
hound ! down ! 
Me thou hast lost. That arm, which hurls thee 
hence, [Harpax dieappears. 

Save me, and set me up, the strong defence, 
In thp ^lir Christian's quarrel ! 

BnUr AnQEto. 

An^. Fix thy foot there. 
Nor be thou shaken with a Caesar's voice. 
Though thousand deaths were in it ; and I then 
Will bring thee to a river, that shall wash 
Thy bloody hands clean and more white than 

snow ; 
And to that garden where these blest things grow. 
And to that martyr'd virgin, who hath sent 
That heavenly token to thee : spread this brave 

And serve, than Caesar, a far greater king. lExit. 
Theoph, It is, it is, some angel. Vanitih'd 

again ! 
Oh, come back, ravishing boy I bright messenger ! 
Thou hast, by these mine eyes fix'd on thy beauty, 
Illumined all my soul. Now look I back 
On my black tyrannies, which, as they did 
Outdsire the bloodiest, thou, blest spirit, that 

lead'st me. 
Teach me what I must to do, and, to do well. 
That my last act the best may parallel. lExit. 

SCENE II.— Dioclrsian's Palace, 

Enter DrocLSSiAK, Maximinds, tJkt Kings <if Epire, Pon* 
tu8 and Maoedon, muting AarxMrA ; Attendants. 

Artem. Glory and conquest still attend upon 
Triumphant Caesar ! 

Diocle. Let thy wish, fair daughter, 
Be equally divided ; and hereafter 
Learn thou to know and reverence Maximinus, 
Whose power, with mine united, makes one Caesar. 

Max. But that I fear 'twould be held flattery. 
The bonds considered in which we stand tied. 
As love and empire, I should say, till now 
I ne'er had seen a lady I thought worthy 
To be my mistress. 

Artem. iSir, you shew yourself 
Both courtier and soldier ; but take heed. 
Tike heed, my lord, though my dull-pointed beauty, 
StHin'd by a harsh refusal in my servant, 
C.inuot dart forth such beams as may inflame you, 
You may encounter such a powerful one. 
That with a pleasing heat will thaw your heart, 
Though bound in ribs of ice. Love still is Love ; 
His bow and arrows are the same : Great Julius, 
That to bis successors left the name of Caesar, 
Whom war could never tame, tkat with dry eyes 
Beheld the large plains of Pharf ^ia cover 'd 
With the dead carcasses of senators. 
And citizens of Rome ; when the world knew 
No other lord but him, struck deep in years too, 
(And men gray-hair'd forget the lusts of youth,) 
After all this, meeting fair Cleopatra, 



jtv-T V. 

A suppliant to's the magic of her eye, 

Even in his pride of conquest, took him captive : 

Nor are you more secure. 

Moje, Were you deform'd, 
( But, by the gods, you are most excellent,) 
Your gravity and discretion would overcome me ; 
And I should be more proud in being prisoner 
To your fair virtues, than of ail the honours, 
Wealth, title, empire, that my sword hath pur- 

Dioele. This meets my wishes. Welcome it, 
With outstretch'd arms, and study to forget 
That Antoninus ever was : thy fate 
Reserved thee for this better choice ; embrace it 

Max, This happy match brings new nerves to 
To our continued league. [give strength 

Dioele. Hymen himself 
Will bless this marriage, which we'll solemnize 
In the presence of these kings. 

K. of Pontus. Who rest most happy. 
To be eyewitnesses of a match that brings 
Peace to the empire. 

Dioele. We much thank your loves : 
But Where's Sapritius, our governor, 
And our most zealous provost, good Thenphilus ? 
If ever prince were blest in a true servant, 
Or could the gods be debtors to a man. 
Both they and we stand far engaged to cherish 
His piety and service. 

Artem. Sir, the governor 
Brooks sadly his son's loss, although he tum'd 
Apostate in death ; but bold Theophilus, 
Who for the same cause, in my presence seal'd 
His holy anger on his daughters hearts ; 
Having with tortures first tried to convert her, 
Dragg'd the bewitching Christian to the scaffold. 
And saw her lose her head. 

Dioele. He is all worthy : 
And from his own month I would gUdly hear 
The manner how she suffered. 

Artem. ^wiU be deliver'd 
With such contempt and scorn, (1 know his nature,) 
That rather 'twill beget your highness' laughter, 
Than the least pity. 

Dioele. To that end 1 would hear it. 

Enter Thbophilcs, Samutius, and Macbdids. 

Artem. He comes ; with him the governor. 

Dioole. O, Sapritius, 
I am to chide you for your tenderness ; 
But yet remembering that you are a father, 
I will forget it. Good Theophilns, 
ril speak with you anon. — Nearer, your ear. 

ITo SAramns. 

Theoph. [atide to Macrinus.] By Antoninus' 
soul, I do conjure you, 
And though not for religion, for his friendship, 
Without demanding what's the cause that moves 
Receive my signet : — By the power of this, [me, 
(lO to my prisons, and release all Christians, 
That are in fetters there by my command.. 

Mao. But what shall follow ? 

Thecph. Haste then to the port ; 
You there shall find two tall ships readj rigg'd. 
In which embark the poor distressed souls. 
And bear them from the reach of tyranny. 
Enquire not whither you are bound : the Deity 
That they adore will give you prosperous winds. 
And make your voyage such, and largely pay for 

Your hazard, and your travail. Leave me here ; 
There is a scene that 1 must act alone : 
Haste, good Macrinus ; and the great God guide 
you ! 

Mac. 1 '11 undertake't ; there's something prompts 
me tu it ; 
'Tis to save innocent blood, a saint-like act : 
And to be merciful has never been 
By moral men themselves esteem'd a sin. lExU. 

Dioele. You know your charge? 

Sup. And will with care observe it. 

Dioele. For 1 profess he is not Cesar's friend. 
That sheds a tear for any torture that 
A Christian suffers. Welcome, my best servant, 
My careful, zealous provost ! thou hast toil'd 
To satisfy my will, though in extremes : 
I love thee for't ; thou art firm rock, no change* 
Prithee deliver, and for my sake do it, [ling. 

Without excess of bitterness or scoffs, 
Before my brother and these kings, how took 
The Christian her death ? 

Theoph. And such a presence 
Though every private h^ui in this large room 
Were circled round with an imperial crown. 
Her story will deserve, it is so full 
Of excellence and wonder. 

Dioele. Ha ! how is this ? 

Theoph. O ! mark it, therefore, and with that 
As you would hear an embassy from heaven 
By a wing'd legate ; for the truth deliver'd. 
Both how, and what, this blessed virgin snffer'd. 
And Dorothea but hereafter named. 
You will rise up with reverence, and no more. 
As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember 
What the canonized Spartan ladies were. 
Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own ma- 
Your Roman dames, whose figures yon yet keep 
As holy relics, in her history 
Will find a second urn : Gracchus' Cornelia, 
Paulina, that in death desired to foUow 
Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia, 
That swallow*d burning coals to overtake him. 
Though all their several worths were given to one. 
With this is to be mentioned. 

Max. Is he mad ? 

Dioele. Why, they did die, Theophilns, and 
This did no more. 

Theoph. They, out of desperation, 
Or for vain glory of an after-name. 
Parted with life : this had not mutinous sons, 
As the rash Gracchi were; nor was this saint 
A doating mother, as Cornelia was. 
This lost no husband, in whose overthrow 
Her wealth and honour sunk ; no fear of want 
Did make her being tedious ; but, aiming 
At an immortal crown, and in His cause 
Who only can bestow it ; who sent down 
L^ons of ministering angels to bear up 
Her spotless soul to heaven, who entertain'^ it 
With choice celestial music, equal to 
The motion of the spheres ; she, uncompell'd. 
Changed this life for a better. My lord Sapritioa, 
You were present at her death ; did you e'er heai 
Such ravishing sounds ? 

Sap. Yet you said then 'twas witchcraft, 
And deviluh illusions. 

Theoph. I then heard it 

•cmrB II. 




and belck'd out blasphemous 

sinful ears, 
Afpunst bis Deity, which then 1 knew not. 
Nor did believe in him. 

Diode. Why, dust thou now ? 
Or dar'st thou, in our hearing^—* 

Theuph. Were my voice 
As loud as is His thunder, to be heard 
Through all the world, all potentates on earth 
Ready to burst with rage, should they but hear it ; 
Though hell, to aid their malice, lent her furies, 
Yet 1 would speak, and speak i^ain, and boldly, 
I am a Christian, and the Powers you worship. 
But dreams of fools and madmen. 
Max. Lay hands on him. 
Diode. Ttion twice a child ! for doating age so 
makes thee. 
Thou couldst not else, thy pilgrimage of life 
Being almost past through, in tlMS last moment 
Destroy whatever thou hast done good or great — 
Thy youth did promise much ; and, grown a man. 
Thou mad*st it good, and, with increase of years, 
Thy actions still bettered : as the sun, 
Thou did'st rise gloriously, kept'st a constant 

In all thy journey ; and now, in the evening. 
When titon should 'st pass with honour to thy rest, 
Wilt thou fall like a meteor ? 

Sap. Yet confess 
Tliat thou art mad, and that thy tongue and heart 
Had no agreement. 

J#&r. Do ; no way is left, else, 
. To save thy life, Theophilus. 
{ Diadf. But, refu»e it, 
■ Destruction as horrid, and as sudden, 
Shall fall upon thee, as if hell stood open. 
And thou wert siukiug thither. 

Theoph. Hear me, yet ; 
Hear, for my service past. 
Artem. What will he say? 
Theoph. As ever 1 deserved your favour, helir 
And grant one boon ; His not for life I sue for; 
Nor is it fit that 1, that ne'er knew pity 
To any Christian, being one myself. 
Should look for any ; no, I rather beg 
The utmost of your cruelty. I stand 
Acoomptable for thousand Christians' deaths ; 
And, were it possible that I could die 
A day for every one, then live again 
To be again tormented, *twere to me 
An easy penance, and I should pass through 
A gentle cleansing fire ; but, that denied me, 
It being beyond the strength of feeble' nature, 
' My suit is, yon would have no pity* on me. 
I In mine own house there are a thousand engines 
j Of studied cruelty, which 1 did prepare 

For miserable Christians ; let me feel 
' As the Sicilian did his brazen bull, 
/ The horrid'st you can find ; and I will say, 
In death, that yon are merciful. 

Diode. Despair not ; 
In this thou shalt prevail. Go fetch them hither : 

{^Exeunt tome qflh* Guard. 

Death shall put on a thousand shapes at once, 

And so appear before thee ; racks, and whips ! 

Thy flesh, with burning pincers torn, shall feed 
The fire that heats them ; aud what's wanting to 
The tortnre of thy body, I'll supply 
In paniahing thy mind« Fetch all the Cbristian« 

That are in hold ; and here, before his face, 
Cut them in pieces. 

Theoph. 'Tis not in thy power : 
It was the first good deed I ever did. 
They are removed out of thy reach ; howe'er, 
I was determined for my sins tu die, 
1 tirsn took order fur their liberty ; 
And still I dare thy wonst. 

Re-enter Guard with rm'ks and other instruments t^f 


Diode. Bind him, I say ; 
Make every artery aud sinew crack : 
The slave that makes him give the loudest shriek. 
Shall have ten thousand drachmas : wretch ! I'll 
To curse the Power thou worship'st. [force thee 

Theoph. Never, never : 
No breath of mine shall e'er be spent on Him, 

[Thcif torment him. 
Rut what shall speak His majesty or mercy. 
I'm honoured in mysufferini^s. Weak tormentors. 
More tortures, more : — alas ! you are unskilful — 
For heaven's sake more ; my breast is yet untom : 
Here purchase the reward that was propounded. 
The irons cool, — here are arms yet, and thighs ; 
Spare no part of me. 

Max. He endures beyond 
The sufferance of a man. 

Sap. No sigh nor groan, 
To witness he hath feeling. 

Diode, Harder, villains 1 

Enter Uarpax. 

Harp. Unless that he blaspheme, he's lost for 
If torments ever could bring forth despair, 
Let these compel him to it : — Oh me ! 
My ancient enemies again 1 IFallt down. 

Enter Dohothba in a white robe, a crown upon her 
head, led in bp Anoklo ; Antuninits, Causta, and 
CHRi8TBTA/o/toirtn/7, all in whitet but lets glorious i 
AvoKLO holds out a crown to 

Theoph. Most glorious vision ! — 
Did e'er so hard a bed yield man a dream 
So heavenly as this? 1 am confirm'd, 
ConArm'd, you blessed spirits, and make haste 
To take that crown of immortality 
You offer to me. Death ! till this blest minute, 
1 never thought thee slow-paced ; nor would I 
Hasten thee now, for any pain I suffer. 
But that thou keep'st me from a glorious wreath. 
Which through this stormy way 1 would creep to, 
And, humbly kneeling, with humility wear it 
Oh ! now I feel thee : — blessed spirits ! 1 come ; 
And, witness for me all these wounds and scars, 
I die a soldier in the Christian wars. IDies. 

Sap. I have seen thousands tortured, but ne'er 
A constancy hke this. [yet 

Harp. I am twice damn'd. 

Anp. Haste to thy place appointed, cu^^ed 
fiend ! 

[HarpAx sinks with thunder and lightning 
In spite of hell, this soldier's not thy pre y ; 
'Tis 1 have won, thou that hast lost the day. 

iKxit irith l)oa. »V- 

Diode. I think the centre of the earth be 
crack 'd — 
Yet I stand still unmoved, and will go on . 
The persecution that is here bes^un, 
Through all the world with violence shall run. 

{Flour ith. t'jf'tmt 





Sir,— That the patronatre of trifles, in this kind, hnth I(ing since roidercd dedications, and inscriptions obsnicte, 
and out nf fashion, I perfectly understand, nnd cannot but ingmuously confess, that I walkin;^ in the same path, may 
be truly argued by you of weakness, or wilful error : but the reasons and defence;*, for the tender of my service tliis 
wity to you, are so Just, that I cannot (in my thankfuluQtM for so many favours received) but be ambitious to public 
thorn. Your noble father, Sir Warham SKim.ROBR (whtise remarkable virtues must be ever rememberedi being, 
while he lived, a master, for his pleasure, in poetry, feariHl not to hold converse with divers, whose necessitous fortunes 
nuule it their profession, among which, by the clemency nf his Judgment, I was not in the last place admitted. You 
(the heir of his honour and estate) inherited his goo<! inclinations to men of my poor quality, of which I cannot give 
any umpler testimony, than by my free and glad pi-nriiiKiMn of it to the world, llosidcs (and it was not the least 
encouragement to me) many of eminence, and the bc!«t of such, who disdained not to take notice of me, have not 
thought themselves disparaged, I dare not say honoui-ed, to be celebrated the patrons of my humble studies. In the 
first file of which, lam confident, you slioll have no cause to blush, to find your name written. 1 present you with 
this old tragedy, without prologue or epilogue, it beintr composed in a time (and that too, peradre iture, as knowing as 
tills) when such by-ornaments were not advanced above the fabric uf the whole work. Accept it, I beseech yoa, aa it 
U, and continue your favour to the author. Your nrrant, Phiuf Masbhoba. 


llKAtTFORT Senior, Oovemor qf MartcilUi, 

Bkaufort Junior, hU San, 

MAUiroRT Senior, Admiral of MarteilUt, 

MALsroRT Jnnior, kU Son. 

Cmamont, \ 

MoNTAiONB, \AtsittaHtt to th€ Oovemor, 

Lanour, j 

MoNTRmiXB, a pretended Friend to Malbport 

BcLOARDB, a poor Captain. 
Thru Sea Captains, qf the Navp af Malbport 


A Steward. 
An Usher. 
A Page. 

Trbocriivb, Daughter to Malbport Senior. 
Two Waiting-Women. 
Tito Courteaana. 
A Bawd. 

Servants and Boldlera. 

SCENE, — Marseilles. 


SCENE l.^A Hatt in the Court af Justice. 

Enter Montrbtillb, Thbocrinb, Usfaer, Page, and 

Montr. Now to be modest, madam, when yon 
A fiuitor for your father, would appear 
Coarser than boldness : you a while must part 

Soft silence, and the blushings of a virgin : 
Though I must grant, did not this cause com- 
mand it, 
Thoy are rich jewels you have ever worn 
To aU men's admiration. In this age, 

If, by our own forced importunity, 
Or others purchased intercession, or 
Corrupting bribes, we can make our approaches 
To justice, guarded from us by stem power, 
We bless the means and industry. 

Ush. Here's music 
In this bag shall wake her, though she had drunk 

Or eaten mandrakes. Let commanders talk 
Of cannons to maxe breaches, give but fire 
To this petard, it shall blow open, madam. 
The iron doors of a judge, and m^e you entrance ; 
When they (let tnem do what they can) with all 
Their mines, their culverins, and basiliticoa. 





Shall cotil thtrir feet without; this being tlie )>ick- 
Th«t never f>iiU. [lock 

ytoHtr. 'Tis true, gold can do much, 
Kat beauty more. Were I the governor, 
Tlioogh the admiral, your father, stood convicted 
Of what he's only doubted, half a dozen 
Of sweet close ki»se« from these cherry lips, 
\l*ith some short active conference in private, 
Should sign his general pardon. 

Theoe. These light words, sir. 
Do ill become the weight of my sad fortune ; 
And I mufh wouder yon, that do profess 
Yourself to be my father's bosom friend, 
Can raise mirth from his misery. 

Montr, You mistake me ; 
I share in his calamity, and only 
I>eliver my thoughts freely, what I should do 
For such a rare petitioner : and if 
Y'oa'll follow the directions I prescribe, 
M'ith my best judgment Til mark out the way 
For his enlargement. 

TKeoe. With all real joy 
I shall put what you counsel into act, 
Provided it be honest. 

Montr, Honesty 
In a lair she client (trust to my experience) 
Seldom or never prospers ; the world's wicked. 
We are men, not saints, sweet lady ; you must 

The manners of the time, if you intend 
To ba\e favour from it : do not deceive yourself, 
By building too much on the false foundations 
Of rhastity and virtue. Bid your waiters 
^tand further ufT, and I'll come nearer to you. 

1 IVom, Some wicked counsel on my life. 

2 Worn. NVer doubt it. 
If it proceed from him. 

Page. I wonder that 
My loid so much affects him. 

U*h. Thou'rt a child, 
And durst not understand on what strong basis 
This friendship's raised between this Montreville 
And our lord, monsieur Malefort ; but Til teach 

thee : 
From thy years they have been joint purchasers 
In fire and water works, and truck'd together. 

Page, In fire and water works ! 

U*h. Commodities, boy. 
Which you may know hereafter. 

Pagt. And deal in them. 
When the trade has given you over, as appears by 
The increase of your high forehead. 

Uth, Here's a crack ! 
I think they suck this knowledge in their milk. 

Page. 1 had an ignorant nurse else. I have 
My lady's garter» and can guess [tied, sir, 

V*h. Peace, infant ; 
Tales out of school ! take heed, you will be 
brrech'd else. 

1 Wmn. My Udy's colour changes. 

2 Wffm. She falls off too. 

Theoe. You are a naughty man, indeed you are ; 
\nd 1 will sooner perish with my father. 
Than at this price redeem him. 

Montr. Take your own way. 
Your modest, legal way : 'tis not your veil. 
Nor monming hiabit, nor these creatures taught 
To howl, and cry, when you b^in to whimper ; 
Nor following my lord's coach in the dirt, 
Nor that which you rely upon, a bribe. 

I Will do it, when there's somothini^ he likes l>etter. 
These courses in an old crone of tiucestrore, 
1'hHt had seven years together tired the court 
With tedious petitions, and clamours, 
For the recovery of a straggling husband. 
To pay, forsooth, the duties of one to her ; — 
But for a lady of your tempting beauties. 
Your you>h, and ravishing features, to hope only 
1 n >uch a suit as this is, to gain favour, 
Withaut exchange of courtesy, — you conceive 
me — 

Enttr Bbauvort Junior, and Bkloarob. 

Were madness at the height. Here's brave young 

The meteor of Marseilles, one that holds 
The governor his lather's will and power 
In mure awe than his own ! Come, come, ad* 

Present your bog, cramm'd with crowns of the 

sun ; 
Do you think he cares for money? he loves plea* 

Bum your petition, bum it : he doats on you, 
Upon my knowledge : to his cabiuet, do. 
And he will point you out a certain course. 
Be the cause right or wrong, toliave your father 
Released with much facility. IEaU, 

Theoc. Do you hear ? 
Take a pander with you. 

Beavf. juu. I tell thee there is neither 
Employment yet, nor money. 

Belg. I have commanded. 
And spent my own means in my country's service. 
In hope to raise a fortune. 

Beauf. jun. Many have hoped so ; 
But hopes prove seldom certainties with soldiers. 

Be/g. If no preferment, let me but receive 
My pay that is behiikd, to set me up 
A tavern, or a vaulting-house ; while men love 
Or drunkenness, or lechery, they'll ne'er fail me : 
Shall 1 have that ? 

Beavf. jun. As our prizes are brought iu ; 
Till then you must be patient. 

Bilg. in the mean time. 
How shall I do for clothes .' 

Bean/, jun. As most captains do : 
Philosopher- like, carry all you have about you. 

Belg, But how shall I do, to satisfy colon, 
monsieur ? 
There lies the doubt. 

Beauf. jun. That's easily decided ; 
My father's table's tree for any man 
That bath born arms. 

Beig. And there's good store of meat ? 

Beauf. jun. Never fear that. 

Be/g. I'll seek no other orJinary then. 
But be his daily guest without invitentent ; 
And if my stomach hold, I'll feed so heartily. 
As he shall pay me suddenly, to be quit of me. 

Beauf. jun, 'Tis she. 

Beig. And further 

Beauf. jun. Away, you are troublesome ; 
Designs of more weight 

Belg. Ha ! fair Theocrine. 
Nay, if a velvet petticoat move in the front. 
Buff jerkins must to the rear ; 1 know my man. 

ners : 
This is, indeed, great business, mine a ge «l'"w. 
I may dance attendance, this niujit be «li^i»:i:«li'd. 

And raddenly, or all will go to wreck ; 
Ciiarge her home in the fluik, mj lord : nay, 1 am 
gone, sir. [ExiL 

Beauf, jun. [raising ToBoc/nMi her kneeM."] 
NaT, praj yoa, madam, rise, or I'll kneel with yoo. 

Page. I woald bring you on your knees, were I 
a woman. 

Beavf. Jua. What is it can deserre so poor a 
AS a suit to n>e ? This more than mortal form 
Was fashion'd to command, aod not entreat : 
Your will bat known is served. 

Theoe. Great sir, my father. 
My brave deserring father ; — bat that sorrow 
Fiirbids the use of speech 

Beauf. jun, I understand yoo. 
Without the aids of Uiose interpre t ers 
That fall from yoor fair eyes : I know yon labour 
The liberty of yoor father ; at the least. 
An equal hearing to acquit himself: 
And, 'tis not to endear my service to you. 
Though I must add, and pray you with patience 

bear it, 
'Tis hard to be.effected, in respect 
The state's incensed against him : all presuming, 
The world of outrages his impious son, 
Tum*d worse than pirate in his cruelties, 
Express'd to this poor country, could not be 
With such ease put in execution, if 
Your father, of late our great admiral. 
Held not or correspondence, or connived 
At his proceedings. 

Theoe, And must he then suffer. 
Hill cause unheard ? 

Beauf, jun. As yet it is resolved so. 
In their determination. But suppose 
(For I would nourish hope, not kill it, in you) 
I should divert the torrent of their purpose, 
And render them, that are implacable, 
Impartial judges, and not sway*d with spleen ; 
Will you, I dare not say in recompense, 
For that includes a debt you cannot owe me. 
But in your liberal bounty, in my suit 
To you, be gracious ? 

Theoe. You entreat of me, nr, 
What I should offer to you, with confession 
That you much undervalue your own worth. 
Should you receive me, since there come with you 
Not lustful fires, but fiiir and lawful flames. 
But I must be excused, 'tis now no time 
For me to think of Hymeneal joys. 
Can he (and pray you, sir, consider it) 
That gave me life, and faculties to love, 
Be, as he's now, ready to be devour'd 
By ravenous wolves, and at that instant, I 
But entertain a thought of those delights, 
In which, perhaps, my ardour meets with yours ! 
Duty and piety forbid it, sir. 

Beauf. jun. But this effected, and your father 
What is your answer ? 

Theoe. Every minute to me 
Will be a tedious age, tiU our embraces 
Are warrantable to the worid. 

Beauf, jun. I urge no more ; 
Confirm it with a kiss. 

Theoe. [Ki$ting Aim.] I doubly seal it. 

Uith. This would do better abed, the business 
ended : — 
rhey are the loving'st couple 1 

Ettter BaACvoar aenior, JfosnrAi«3», CuAmaxr, amd 


Beauf. jun. Here comes my father. 
With the Council of War : deliver your petition* 
And leave the rest to me. 

[Thboc. ^ert a paper 

Beauf. sen. I am sorry, lady. 
Your father's guilt compels your innocence 
To ask what I in justice must deny. 

Beauf. jun. For my sake, sir, pray you receive 
and read it. 

Beauf. sen. Thou fuolish boy ! I can deny thee 
nothing. [TaAet tke paper fram Tasoc. 

Beat^. jun. 'Fhus fur we are happy, wniMi*-! r 
quit the place ; 
You shall hear how we succeed. 

Theoe. Goodness reward you ! 

IBxmnt TaucanrK, Uah«r. Paftv, and Woman. 

Mont. It is apparent ; and we stay too long 
To censure Malefort as be deserves. 

[TVjr take their seats.. 

Cham. There is no colour of reason that makes 
for him : 
Had he discharged the trust committed to him. 
With that experience and fidelity 
He practised heretofore, it could not be 
Our navy should be block'd up, and, in our sight* 
Our goods made prize, our sailors sold for slaves. 
By his prodigious issue. 

Lan, I much grieve. 
After so many brave and high achievements^ 
He should in one ill forfeit all the good 
He ever did his country. 

Beauf. sen. Well, 'tis granted. 

Beauf. jun, I humbly thank you, sir. 

Beat^f, sen. He shall have hearing. 
His irons too struck off ; bring him before us. 
But seek no further favour. 

Beauf. jun. Sir, I dare not lEjni 

Beauf. sen. Monsieur Chamont, Montaigne, 

Lanour, assistants, 

By a commission from the most Christian king, 

In punishing or freeing Malefort, 

Our late great admiral : though I know you need 

Instructions from me, how to dispose of [not 

Yourselves in this man's trial, that exacts 

Your clearest judgments, give me leave, with fr- 

To offer my opinion. We are to hear him, [vour, 

A little looking back on his fair actions, 

Loyal, and true demeanour ; not as now 

By the general voice already he's condemn'd. 

But if we find, as most believe, he hath held 

Intelligence with his accursed son. 

Fallen off from all allegiance, and tum'd 

(But for what cause we know not) the most bloody 

And fatal enemy this country ever 

Repented to have brought forth ; all compassion 

Of what he was, or may be, if now pardoned ; 
We sit engaged to censure him with all 
Extremity and rigour. 

Cham, Your lordship shews ui 
A path which we will tread in. 

Ijun, He that leaves 
To follow, as you lead, will lose himself. 

Mont, rU not be ringular. 

tU-enier BaAvroar Junior, with MoirmEnixB, Mauwobt 
senior, Bbloarob, and Ofioera. 

Beauf. sen. He comes, but with 
A strange distracted look. 

MaUf. ten. Live I once more 
To Me theie hands and armi free ! these, that 
In the mott dreadfal horror of a fight, [often, 

Have been as seamarks to teach such as were 
Seconds m my attempts, to steer between 
The rocks of too mach daring, and pale fear, 
To reach the port of Tictory ! when my sword, 
Adranced thus, to my enemies appeared 
A hairy comet, threatening death and ruin 
To audi as durst behold it ! These the legs. 
That, when our ships were grappled, carried me 
With sndi swift motion from deck to deck. 
As they that saw it, with amazement cried. 
He does not mn, but flies ! 

Moni, He still retains 
The greatness of his spirit. 

Mmi^. aen. Now crampt with irons, 
HongCT, and cold, they hardly do support me — 
But I forget myself. O, my good lords, 
That sit there as my judges, to determine 
The life, and death of Malefort, where are now 
Those shouts, those cheerful looks, those loud 

Widi which, when I retum'd loaden with spoil, 
Yoa entertain 'd your admiral ? all's forgotten : 
And I stand here to give sccount of that 
Of which I am as free and innocent 
As he that never saw the eyes of him, 
For whom 1 stand suspected. 

B§anf. aen. Monsieur Malefort, 
Let not your passion so far transport yon. 
As to beliere from any private maKce, 
Or envy to your person, you are question'd : 
Nor do the suppositions want weight. 
That do inrite us to a strong assurance, 
Your son 

Mulef. aen. My shame I 

Beanf. aen. Pray you, hear with patience, — 
Without assistance or sure aids from you, 
Coold, with the pirates of Argiers and Tunis, 
Even those that you had almost twice defeated. 
Acquire such credit, as with them to be 
Made absolute commander ; (pray you observe 

If there had not some contract pass'd between you, 
That, when occasion Merv'd, you would join with 
To the ruin of Marseilles ? [them, 

Mont, More, what urged 
Tour son to turn spostata ? 

Chmm, Had he from 
The state, or governor, the least neglect. 
Which eovy could interpret for a wrong ? 

L^n. Or, if yon slept not in your charge, how 
So many ships as do infest our coast, [could 

And have in our own harbour shut our navy, 
Come in unfought with ? 

Beawf. jun. They put him hardly to it. 

MmUf. aen. My lords, with as much brevity as 
I'll answer each [Muticular objection [I can, 

With which you charge me. The main ground, 

on which 
Yoa raise the building of your accusation, 
Hath reference to my son : should I now curse 

Or wish, in the agony of my troubled soul, 
Lightning had found him in his mother*s womb, 
Yoa'll say 'tis firom the purpose; and I, therefore, 
Betake him to the devil, and so leave him I 
Did never loyal father but myself 

Beget a treacherous issue ? was't in me. 
With as much ease to fashion up his mind. 
As, in his generation, to form 
The organs to his body ? Must it follow. 

Because that he is impious, I am false ? 

I would not boast my actions, yet 'tis lawful 
To upbraid my benefits to unthankful men. 
Who sunk the Turkish gallies in the streights 
But Malefort ? Who rescued the French mer- 
When they were boarded, and stow'd under hatches 
By the pirates of Argiers, when every minute 
They did expect to be chain'd to the oar, 
But your now doubted admiral ? then you fill'd 
The air with shouts of joy, and did proclaim, 
When hope had left them, and grim-look'd despair 
Hover'd with sail-stretch 'd vrings over their heads. 
To li.e, as to the Neptune of the sea, 
They owed the restitution of their goods. 
Their lives, their liberties. O, can it then 
Be probable, my lords, that he that never 
Became the master of a pirate's ship. 
But at the mainyard hung the captain up. 
And caused the rest to be thrown over-board ; 
Should, after all these proofs of deadly hate. 
So oft ezpress'd against them, entertain 
A thought of quarter with them ; but much less 
(Ti> the perpetual ruin of my glories) 
To join with them to lift a wicked arm 
Against my mother>country, this Marseilles, 
Which, with my prodigal expense of blood, 
I have so oft protected 1 

Beau/, aen. What you have done 
Is granted and applauded ; but yet know 
This glorious relation of your actions 
Must not so blind our judgments, as to suffer 
This most unnatural crime you stand accused of. 
To pass unquestion'd. 

Cham. >fo ; you must produce 
Reasons of more validity and weight. 
To plead in your defence, or we shall hardly 
Cunciude you innocent. 

Mont. The large volume of 
Your former worthy deeds, with your experience. 
Both what and when to do, but makes against you. 

Lan. For had your care and courage been the 
As heretofore, the dangers we are plunged in 
Had been with ease prevented. 

Male/, sen. What have I 
Omitted, in the power of flesh and blood. 
Even in the birth to strangle the designs of 
This hell-bred wolf, my son ? alas ! my lords, 
1 am no god, nor like him could foresee 
His cruel thoughts, and cursed purposes : 
Nor would the sun at my command forbear 
To make his progress to the other world, 
Affording to us one continued light. 
Nor could my breath disperse those foggy mists, 
Cover'd with which, and darkness of the night. 
Their navy undiscern'd, without resistance. 
Beset our harbour : make not that my fault. 
Which you in justice must ascribe to fortune.— 
But if that nor my former acts, nor what 
I have deliver'd, can prevail with you. 
To make good my integrity and truth ; 
Rip up this bosom, and pluck out the heart 
That hath been ever loyal. LA trumpet within. 

Beauf. aen. How ! a trumpet ? 
Enquire the cause. [EJcH Moirraaviu* 



ACT n. 

Malef. Ben. Thou searcher of men's hearts. 
And sure defender of the innocent, 
vMy other crying sins — awhile not lodk*d on) 
If I in this &m guilty, strike me dead, 
Or by fioine unexpected means confirm, 
I am accused unjustly ! [Aiide, 

Reenter Montrstillk with a Sea Captain. 

Beauf. sen. Speak, the motives 
That bring thee hither ? 

Capt. From our admiral thus : 
He does salute you fairly, and desires 
It may be understood no public hate 
Hath brought him to Marseilles ; nor seeks he 
The ruin of his country, but aims only 
To wreak a private wrong : and if from you 
He may have leave and liberty to decide it 
In single combat, he'll give up good pledges, 
If he fall in the trial of his right, 
We shall weigh anchor, and no more molett 
This town with hostile arms. 

Beauf. ten. Speak to the man, 
If in this presence he appear to yon. 
To whom yon bring this challenge. 

Capt, Tis to you. 

Beauf, ten. His father ! 

Montr, Can it be ? * 

Beauf. jun. Strange and prodigions I 

Malef, ten. Thou seest I stand unmoved : were 
thy voice thunder, 
It should not shake me; say, what .would the viper? 

Capt, The reverence a father's name may chal- 
And duty of a son no more remember'd, Qenge, 
He does defy thee to the death. 

Malef. ten. Go on. 

Capt, And with his sword will prove it on thy 
Thou art a murderer, an atheist ; [head. 

And that all attributes of men tum'd furies. 
Cannot express thee : this he will make good. 
If thou dar'st give him meedng. 

Malef, ten. Dare I live ! 
Dare I, when mountains of my sins overwhelm me. 
At my last g-'isp ask for mercy 1 How I bless 
Thy coming, captain ; never man to me 
Arrived so opportunely ; and thy message, 
However it may seem to threaten death, 
I Does yield to me a second life in curing 
I My wounded honour. Stand I yet suspected 
Asa confederate with this enemy, 
Wlium of all men, against all ties of nature. 
He marks out for destruction ! you are ju:)t. 
Immortal Powers, and in this merciful ; 

And it takes from my sorrow, and my shame 

For being the father to so bad a son, 

In that you are pleased to offer up the monster 

To my correction. Blush and repent. 

As you are lx)und, ray honourable lords. 

Your ill opinions of me. Not great Bmtos, 

The father of the Roman liberty. 

With more assured constancy beheld 

His traitor sons, for labouring to call home 

The banish*d Tarquins, scourged with rods to death, 

Than I will shew, when I take back the life 

This prodigy of mankind received from me. 

Beauf. ten. We are sorry, monsieur Malefort, 
for our error, 
And are much taken with your resolution ; 
But the disparity of years and strength. 
Between you and your son, duly considered, 
We would not so expose you. 

Malef, ten. Then you kill me, 
Under pretence to save me. O my lords, 
As you love honour, and a wrong'd man's fame, 
Deny me not this fair and noble means 
To make me right again to all the world. 
Should any other but myself be chosen 
To punish this apostata with death, 
You rob a wretched father of a justice 
That to all after times will be recorded. 
I wish his strength were centuple, his skiU equal 
To my experience, that in his fall 
He may not shame my victory ! I feel 
The powers and spirits of twenty strong men in me. 
Were he with wild fire circled, I undaunted 
Would make way to him. — As you do affect, sir. 
My daughter Theocrine ; as you are 
My true and ancient friend ; as thon art valiant ; 
And as all love a soldier, second me 

ITheyM tut to ike Governor 

In this my just petition. In your looks 
I see a grant, my lord. 

Beauf. ten. You shall overbear me ; 
And since you are so confident in your cause. 
Prepare you for the combat. 

MaUf ten. With more joy 
Than yet I ever tasted : by the next sun, 
The disobedient rebel shall hear from me, 
And so return in safety. [To the Captain.] My 

good lords. 
To all my service. — I will die, or purchase 
Rest to Marseilles ; nor can I make doubt. 
But his impiety is a potent charm. 
To edge my swurd, uud add strength to my arm. 


SCENE I.~^fs open tpace without the City, 

Enter three Sea Captains. 

2 Capt. He did accept the challenge, then ? 
1 Capt. Nay more. 

Was overjoy'd in't ; and, as it had been 
A fair invitement to a solemn feast. 
And not a combat to conclude with death, 
He cheerfully embraced it. 

3 Capt. Are the articles 
Sign*d to on both parts ? 

t Capt At the father's snit« 

^^ ith much unwillingness the governor 
Couse ted to them. 

2 Cu'tt. You are inward with 
Our admiral ; Could you yet never learn 
What the nature of the quarrel is, that renders 
The son more than incensed, implacable. 
Against the father? 

I Capt. Never ; yet I have. 
As far as manners would give warrant to it. 
With my best curionsness of rare observed liim. 
I have sat with liim in his cabin a day ^>gether, 
Yet not a syllable exchanged between us. 


«cb:cb z. 



Si^h be did often, as if inward grief 

And melanrboly at that instant would 

CJioke up his rital spirits, and now and then 

A tear or two, as in derision of 

Tbe toughness of his ru^^ temper, woald 

Fall on his hollow cheeks, which but once felt, 

A sodden flash of fury did dry up ; 

And laying then bis hand upon his sword, 

He would mnnnnr, but yet so as I olt heard him, 

We shall meet, cruel father, yes, we shall ; 

When rU exact, for every womanish drop 

I >f sorrow from these eyes, a strict accumpt 

Of iiiRch more from the heart. 

*2 Capt, 'Tis wondrous strange. 

3 Capt. And past my apprehension. 

1 C«/><. Yet what makes 

The miracle greater, when from the maintop 
A *9\Va descried, all thoughts that do concern 
Himself laid by, no lion, pinch'd with hunger, 
Rotises himself tnore fiercely from his den. 
Than he comes on the deck ; and there how wisely 
He gives directions, and how stont he is 
In his executions, we, to admiration. 
Hare been eyewitnesses : yet he never minds 
Tlie booty when 'tis made ours ; bnt as if 
Tbe danger, in the purchase of the prey. 
Delighted him much more than the reward. 
His will made known, he does retire himself 
To his private contemplation, no joy 
Ezprcss*d by him for victory. 

BnUr MALBvoRr Jan« 

2 Capi, Here he comes. 

Bat with more cheerful looks than ever yet 
I saw him wear. 

Maief, Jum. It was long since resolved on. 
Nor mnst I stagger now [in't.] May the cause. 
That forces me to this unnatural act 
6c bnried in everlastiDg silence. 
And 1 find rest in death, or my revenge ! 
To either I stand equal. Pray you, gentlemen. 
Be charitable in your censures of me, 
And do not entertain a false belief 
Tliat 1 am mad, fur undertaking that 
Which mnst be, when effected, still repented. 
It adds to my calamity, that I have 
tHsGOurse and reason, and but too well know 
1 can nor Uve, nor end a wretched life, 
Bnt both ways I am impious Do not, therefore. 
Ascribe the perturbation of my soul 
To a servile fear of death : 1 oft have view'd 
All kinds of his inevitable darts, 
Nor are they terrible. Were I condemned to leap 
From the dond-cover'd brows of a steep rock. 
Into the deep ; or, Cnrtios like, to fill up. 
For mj country's safety, and an after- name, 
A bottomless abyss, or charge through fire. 
It oottld not so much shake me, as th* encounter 
Of this day's single enemy. 

1 Cmpi. If you please, sir. 
Yon may shun it, or defer it. 

Maief. jun. Not for the world : 
Yet two things I entreat you ; the first is, 
Youll not enquire the difference between 
Mvself and him, which as a father once 
I bonour'd, now my deadliest enemy ; 
Tlie last is, if I fall, to bear my body [it. — 

^mr from this |^ace, and where yon please inter 
1 shoold say a ore, but by his sudden coming 
1 Mm eat off. 

Rntfr BwJivwoRT junior and AfoirniKviLLK, lfadir.g in 
^lALicroaT fieniur ; UmuoAKDrt following, with others. 

Beauf. jun. Let me, sir, have the honour 
To be your second. 

Montr. With your pardon, sir, 
I muht put ill for that, since our tried friendship 
Hatli lasted from our infancy. 

Beit/, 1 have served 
Under your command, and you have seen me 

And handsomely, though I say it ; and if now, 
At this downright game, I may but hold your 
I'll not pull down the side. [cards, 

Mal^, ten. I rest much bound 
To your so noble offers, and I hope 
Shall find your pardon, though I now refuse them ; 
For which ''11 yield strong reasons, but as brieHy 
As the time will give me leave. Por me to borrow 
(That am supposed the weaker) any aid 
From the assistance of my second's sword. 
Might write me down in the black list of those 
That have nor fire nor spirit of their own ; 
But dare, and do, as they derive tlieir courage 
From his example, on witose help and valour 
They wholly do depend. Let this suffice. 
In my excuse for that. Now, if you please, 
On both parts, to retire to yonder mount 
Where you, as in a Roman theatre. 
May see the bloody difference determined," 
Your favours meet my wishes. 

Malef, pm, 'Tis approved of 
By me ; and I command you [7*0 hu Captains.] 
And leave me to my fortune. [Lead the way, 

Bea%f. jun. I would gladly 
Be a spectator (since I am denied 
To be an actor) of each blow and thrust, 
And punctually observe them. 

Malef, jun. You shall have 
All you desire ; for in a word or two 
I must make bold to entertain the time. 
If he give suffrage to it. 

Malef aen. Yes, I will ; 
I'll hear thee, and then kill thee : nay, farewell. 

Malef jun. Embrace with love on both sides, 
Leave deadly hute and fury. [and with us 

Malef. xen. From this jdace 
Yt>u ne'er shall ^ee both living. 

Belff. What's past help, is 
Beyond prevention. 

IThey einbroce on both tiiies, and take leave ieverallp 
of the /at her and gun. 

Malef. i<en. Now we are alone, sir ; 
And thou hast liberty to unload the burthen 
Which thou groan'st under. Speak thy griefs. 

Malef. jun. 1 shall, sir ; 
But in a perplex'd form and method, which 
You only can interpret : Would you had not 
A guilty knowledge in your bosom, of 
The language which you force me to deliver, 
So 1 were nothing ! As you are my father, 
I bend my knee, and, uncompell d, profess 
My life, and all that's mine, to be your gift ; 
And that in a son's duty I stand bound 
To lay this head beneath your feet, and run 
All desperate hazards tor your ease and safety : 
But this coufe&t on my part, 1 rise up, 
Aud not as with a father, (all respect. 
Love, fear, and reverence cust ofiV) but as 
A wicked man I thus e.xpostulair with }<'U. 
Why have you done that whirh 1 Uarc not speak, 




And in the action changed the humble shape 
Of my obedience, to rebellious rage, 
And insolent pride ? and with shot eyes con- 
To run my bark of honour on a shelf [ strain* d me 
I must not see, nor, if I saw it, shun it ? 
In my wrongs nature suffers, and looks backward, 
And mankind trembles to see me pursue 
What beasts would fly from. For when I advance 
This sword, as I must do, against your head, 
Piety will weep, and filial duty mourn, 
To see their altars which you built up in me. 
In a moment razed and ruin'd. That you could 
(From my grieved soul I wish it) but produce, 
To qualify, not excuse, your deed of horror. 
One seeming reason, that I might fix here, 
And move no further ! 

Malef. Men, Have I so far lost 
A Other's power, that I must give account 
Of my actions to my son ? or must I plead 
Asa fearful prisoner at the bar, while he 
That owes his being to me sits a judge 
To censure that, which onjy by myself 
Ought to be que8tion*d ? mountains^ sooner fall 
Beneath their valleys, and the lofty pine 
Pay homage to the bramble, or what else b 
Preposterous in nature, ere my tongue 
In one short syllable yield satisfaction 
To any doubt of thine ; nay, though it were 
A certainty disdaining argument ! 
Since, though my deeds wore hell*8 black livery, 
To thee ^hey should appear triumphal robes. 
Set ofi* with glorious honour, thou being bound 
To see with my eyes, and to hold that reason. 
That takes or birth or fashion from my will. 

Malef, jun. This sword dividM that slavish 

Malef, ten. It cannot : [knot. 

It cannot, wretch ; and if thou but remember 
From whom thou hadst this spirit, thou dar*st not 
hope it. [thee 

Who train'd thee up in arms but I ? Who tauglit 
Men were men only when they durst look down 
With scorn on death and danger, and coutenin'd 
All opposition, till plumed Victory 
Mad made her constant stand upon their helmets ? 
Under my shield thou hast fought as securely 
As the youDg eaglet, cover*d with the wings 
Of her fierce dam, learns how and where to prey. 
All that is manly in thee, I call mine ; 
But what is weak and womanish, thine own. 
And what I gave, since thou art proud, ungrateful. 
Presuming to contend with htm, to whom 
Submission is one, I will take from thee. 
I..ook, therefore, for extremities, and expect not 
I will correct thee as a son, but kill thee 
As a serpent swollen with poison i who surviving 
A little longer, with infectious breath, 
W%)uld render all things near him, like it&elf, 
Contagious. Nay, now my anger's up. 
Ten thousand virgins kneeling at my feet. 
And with one general cry howling for mercyi 
Shftll n(»t redeem thee. 

MaleJ. jnn. Thou incensed Power, 
Awhile forbear thy thunder ! let me have 
No aid in my revenge, if from the grave 
Mv mother 


Aiaief. sen. Thou shalt never name her more. 

BBAuroRT fiinlnr. STontrkvilue, Bblaardr. and the three 
ricA I'aptninsh app<ar on the Mtmnt, 
BeauJ. jftn. They are at it. 

2 Capt. That thrust was put strongly home. 
Montr, But with more strength avoided. 
Belg, Well come in ; 
He has drawn blood of him yet : well done, old 

1 Capt, That was a strange miss. [cock. 
BeaiiJ, jun. That a certain hit. 

[ Yimng Malbvokt m elain, 
Belg, He*s fallen, the day is ours ! 

2 Capt. The admirars slain. 
Montr, The father is victorious ! 
Belg. Let us haste 

To gratulate his conquest. 

1 Capt. We to mourn 
The fortune of the son. 

Beauf. jun. With utmost speed 
Acquaint the governor with the good success. 
That he may entertain, to his full merit. 
The father of his country's peace and safety. 

[Thejf retire. 

Malef. ten. Were a new life hid in each 
mangled limb, 
I would search, and find it : and howe'er to some 
I may seem cruel thus to tyrannise 
Upon this senseless flesh, 1 glory in it. — 
That I have power to be unnatural, 
Is my security ; die all my fears. 
And waking jealousies, which have so long 
Been my tormentors ! there's now no suspicion : 
A fact, which I alone am conscious of. 
Can never be discovered, or the cause 
Tliat caird this duel on, I being above 
All perturbations ; nor is it in 
The power of fate, again to make me wretched. 

Re-enUr Bkaupoiit Junior. MoMrmrviLLB, Ubloaiu>b, and 
the three Sea Ciiptains. 

Beauf, jun. All honour to the conqueror ! who 
My friend of treachery now ? [dares tax 

Belg. I am very gUd, sir. 
You have sped so well : but I must tell you thus 

To put you in mind that a low ebb must follow 
Your high-swoirn tide of happiness, you have 
This honour at a high price. [purchased 

Malef. 'Tis. Belgarde, 
Above all estimation, and a little 
To be exalted with it cannot savour 
Of arrogance. That to this arm and sword 
Marseilles owes the freedom of her fears, 
Or that my loyalty, not long bince eclipsed. 
Shines now more bright than ever, are not things 
To be lamented ; thuut^h, indeed, they may 
Appear too dearly bought, my falling glories 
B«ing made up again, and cemented 
With a son's blood. 'Tis true, he was my son. 
While he was worthy ; but when he shook off 
His duty to me, (which my fond indulgence. 
Upon submission, mieht perhaps have pardon'd,) 
And grew his country *8 enemy, I look'd on him 
.\s a stranger to my family, and a traitor 
Justly proscribed, and he to be rewarded 
That could bring in his head, I know in this 
That I am censured rugged, and austere. 
That will vouchsafe not one sad sigh or tear 
Upon his slaughter'd body : but 1 rest 
Well satbfied in myself, being assured that 
Extraordinary virtues, when they soar 
Too high a pitch for common «ii;hts to judge of. 
Losing their proper splendor, are condeum'd 
For moat remarkable vices. 

Beauf. jun. 'Tis too true, f ir. 





In the opinion of the moltitude ; 
Bat for mytelfy that would he held your friend, 
And hope to knovr you by a nearer name. 
They are as they deserve, received. 

Male/. My daughter 
Shall thank you for the favoor. 

Bea^f. Jun. I can wish 
No happiness beyond it. 

1 Capi. Shall we have leave 
To bear the corpse of our dead admiral, 
As he enjoin'd us, from this coast ? 

MaUf, Provided 
The articles agreed on be observed. 
And you depart hence with it, making oath 
Never hereafter, but as friends, to touch 
Upon this shore. 

1 Capi, We'll futhfiilly perform it. 

Mulif. Then as you please dispose of it : 'tis an 
lliat I could wish removed. His sins die with him ! 
So far he has my charity. 

1. Cmpt, He shall have 
A aokUer's ftineral. 

{TV Gsptains Uar Qu Bodp tg, wUk tad Mutie. 

MnUf. FareweU! 

Bemt^.Jun. These rites 
Psid to the dead, the conqueror that survives 
Most reap the harvest of his bloody labour. 
Sound all loud instruments of joy and triumph. 
And with all circumstance and ceremony, 
^'ut on the patron of our liberty, 
Which he at all parts merits. 

Mm2^. I am honour'd 
ficyond my hopes. 

B^anf, jun. 'Tis short of your deserts, 
l^sd on : oh, sir, yon must ; you are too modest. 

iExeuM with loud MuHe. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Malbfort's House, 
EnUr TfcaocaiNB, Page, and Waiting-women. 

Tkeoe. Talk not of comfort ; I am both ways 
And so distracted with my doubts and fears, 
I kbow nut where to fix my hopes. My loss 
li* rertain in a father, or a brother, 
f >r both ; such is the cruelty of my fate. 
And not to be avoided. 

1 Worn, You must bear it 
With patience, madam. 

*2 fFom. And what's not in you 
To be prevented, should not cause a sorrow 
Which cannot help it 

Pmpe. Fear not my brave lord. 
Your nobk father ; fighting is to him 
Pkailiar as eating. He can teach 
Oar modem duellists how to cleave a button. 
And in a new way, never yet found out 
By old Caranza. 

1 Worn, May he be victorious, 
Aad panish disobedience in his son 1 

Whose death, in reason, should at no part move 

He being but half your brother, and the nearness 
WUcfa that might challenge from you, forfeited 
By his impious purpose to kill him, from whom 
He received life. lA Aaut within, 

2 fFom, A general shou t 

1 Worn. Of joy. D 

Page, Look op, dear lady ; sad news never came 
Usher'd with loud applause. 

Theoc. I stand prepared 
To endure the shock of it. 

Enter Usher. 

Uah. I am out of breath 
With running to deUver first.*- 

Theoe. What? 

Uth, We are all made. 
My lord has won the day ; your brothei 's slain ; 
The pirates gone : and by the governor. 
And states, and all the men of war, he is 
Brought home in triumph : — nay, no musing, pny 
For my good news hereafter. [uie 

Theoc, Heaven is just ! 
. Uth. Give thanks at leisure ; make all haste to 
meet him. 
I could wish I were a horse, that I might bear you 
To him upon my hack. 

Page. Thou art an ass, 
And Uiis is a sweet burthen. 

U$h. Peace, you crack-f ope! {Exeunt 

SCENE lll.^A Street. 

Loud Mutie. Enter Moifraxvuxa, Bkloardk, Bkavfort 
wentor, Bbauvort Junior ; Malbfobt, /Mowed bjf llo.'v- 
TAiom, CBAJioirr, and Lanour. 

Beauf, ten. All honours we can give you, and 
Though all that's rich or precious in Marseilles 
Were laid down at your feet, can hold no weight 
With your deservings : let me glory in 
Your action, as if it were mine own ; 
And have the honour, with the arms ot love. 
To embrace the great performer of a deed 
Transcending all this country e'er could boast of. 

Mont, Imagine, noble sir, in what we may 
Express our thankfulness, and rest assured 
It shall be freely granted. 

Cham, He's an enemy 
To goodness and to virtue, that dares think 
There's anything within our power to give, 
Which you in justice may not boldly chalieiig^e. 

Lan. And as your own ; for we will ever lie 
At your devoti(m. 

Malef, Much hnnour'd sir, 
And you, my noble lords, 1 can say only, 
The greatness of your favours overwhelms lue, 
And like too large a sail, for the small bark 
Of my poor merits, sinks me. That I stand 
Upright in your opinions, is an honour 
Exc^ding my deserts, 1 having done 
Nothing but what in duty 1 stood bound to : 
And to expect a recompense were base, 
Good deeds being ever in themselves rewarded. 
Yet since your liberal bounties tell me that 
I may, with your allowance, be a suitor, 
To you, my lord, I am an humble one. 
And must ask that, which known, I fear you will 
Censure me over bold. 

Beauf, ten. It must be something 
Of a strange nature, if it find from me 
Denial or delay. 

Malef, Thus then, my lord, 
Since you encourage me : You are happy in 
A worthy son, and all the comfurt that 
Fortune has left me, is one daughter ; now. 




ACT 111. 

If it may not appear too much presumption. 

To seek to match my lownens with your height, 

1 should desire (and if I may obtain it, 

I write nU ultra to my largest hopes) 

She may in your opinion be thought worthy 

To be received into your family, 

And married to yoor son : their year* are equal, 

And their desires, I think, too ; she is not 

Ignoble, nor my state contemptible. 

And if you think me worthy your alliance, 

*Tis all I do aspire to. 

Beauf. jun. You demand 
That which with all the service of my life 
I should have laboured to obtain from you. 

sir, why are you slow to meet so fair 

And noble an offer ? can France shew a virgin 
That may be parallel'd with her ? is she not 
The phoenix of the time, the fairest star 
In the bright sphere of women.' 
Beauf, ten. Be not rapt so : 
Though I dislike not what is motion'd, yet 
In what so near concerns me, it is fit 

1 ihould proceed with judgment. 

Snter Usher, Thbocrikk, Page, and Waiting-women. 

BeauJ, jun. Here she comes : 
Look on her with impartial eyes, and then 
Let envy, if it can, name one graced feature 
In which she is defective. 

MaUf. Welcome, girl ! 
My joy, my comfort, my delight, my all. 
Why dost thou come .to greet my victory 
In such a sable habit ? This shew'd well 
When thy father was a prisoner, and suspected ; 
But now his faith and loyalty are admired, 
Rather than doubted, in your outward garments 
You are to express the joy you feel within : 
Nor should you with more curiousness and care 
Pac« to the temple to be made a bride, 
Than now, when all men's eyes are fixt upon you, 
Yon should appear to entertain the honour 
From me descending to you, and in which 
You have an equal share. 

Theoe, Heaven has my thanks, 
With all humility paid for your fair fortune, 
And so far duty binds me ; yet a little 
To mourn a brother's loss, however wicked. 
The tenderness familiar to our sex 
May, if you please, excuse. 

MaUf, Thou art deceived. 
He, living, was a blemish to thy beauties, 
But in his death gives ornament and lustre 
To thy perfections, but that they are 
So exquisitely rare, that they admit not 
The least ad<tition. Ha ! here's yet a print 
Of a sad tear on thy cheek ; how it takes from 
Our present happiness 1 with a father's lips, 

A loving father's lips, 1*11 kifts it off. 
The cause no more remember'd. 

Theoc. You forget, sir. 
The presence we are in. 

Malef. 'Tis well consider^ ; 
And yet, who is the owner of a treasure 
Above all value, but, without offence. 
May glory in the glad possession of it .' 
Nor let it in your excellence b^et wonder, 
Or any here, that looking on the daughter, 
I feast myself in the imagination 
Of those sweet pleasures^ and allow'd delights, 
I tasted from the mother, who still lives 
In this her perfect model ; for she had 
Such smooth and high-arch'd brows, such spark* 

ling eyes. 
Whose every glance stored Cupid's emptied qniveri 
Such ruby lips, — and such a lovely bloom. 
Disdaining all adulterate aids of art, 
Kept a perpetual spring upon her ftice. 
As DeaUi himself lamented, being forced 
To blast it with his paleness : and if now 
Her brightness dimm'd with sorrow, take and 

please you, 
Think, think, young lord, when she appears herself, 
This veil removed, in her own natural pureness, 
How far she will transport you. 

BeauJ, jutu Did she need it. 
The praise which you (and well deserved) give to 
Must of necessity raise new desires [her* 

In one indebted more to years ; to me 
Your words are but as oil pour'd on a fire, 
That flames already at the height. 

Afaief. No more ; 
I do believe you, and let me from you 
Find so much credit ; when I make her yours, 
I do possess you of a gift, which 1 
With mucJh unwillingness partffom. My good lordly 
Forbear your further trouble ; give me leave, 
For on the sudden I am indisposed. 
To retire to my own house, and rest : to.morroWy 
As you command me, I will be your guest. 
And having deckM my daughter like herself. 
You shall have further conference. 

Beauf. ten. You are master 
Of your own will ; but fail not, I'll expect you. 

Malef * Nay, I will be excused; I mut^t part 
with you. \T^o young BsAvroBT and ike resL 
My dearest Theoorine, give me thy hand, 
I will support thee. 

Theoe. You gripe it too hard, sir. 

Malef Indeed I do, but have no further end in it 
But love and tenderness, such as I may cliNllciige, 
And you must grant. Thou art a sweet one ; ) es. 
And to be cherish'd. 

Theoe, May I still deserve it ! 

lExewU several •rcijpr 


SCENE I.— ^ Banqueiing^oom in BsAoroRT't 


JBnier Bmavwokt senior, amd Steward. 

MeoMf. ten. Have you been catvful r 
Si^c* With my best endeavours. [sir. 

Let them bring atomacba, there's no want of meat. 

Portly and curious viands are prepared. 
To please all kinds of appetites. 

Beauf, ten. 'Tis well. 
I love a table furnish'd with full plenty, 
And store of friends to eat it : but «^ ith this cantion, 
I would not have my house a commt^n inn. 
For some men that come rather to devour me. 




Than to present their nerrice. At this time, too, 
It being a serious and solemn meeting, 
I most not have my bosrd pester'd with shadows. 
That, under other men's protection, break in 
WithoQt invitement. 

Stew, With your favour, then, 
Yott must double your guard, my lord, for on ray 

There are some so sharp set, not to be kept out 
By a tile of musketeers : and 'tis less danger, 
rU undertake, to stand at push of pike. 
With an enemy in a breach, that undermined too, 
And the cannon playing on it, than to stop 
One harpy, TOur perpetual guest, from entrance, 
Wlea the dresser, the cook's drum, thunders, 

Come on, 
Tbe serrine will be lost else ! 

BtanJ. ten. What is he f 

SUw. As tall a trencherman, that is most 
As e'er drmolish'd pye-fortificatioR [ceruin, 

As soon as batter'd ; and if the rim of his belly 
Were not made up of a much tougher stuff 
Than his buff jerkin, there were no defence 
Afainat the charge of his guts : you needs must 

know him. 
He's eminent for his eating. 

Btmf, ten, O, Belgarde ! 

Sum, The same ; one of the admiral's cast cap- 
Who swear, there being no war, nor hope of any. 
The only drilling is to est devoutly. 
And to be ever drinking — that's allow' d of, 
B«t they know not where to get it, there^s the spite 

Bt&iif. 9en, The more their misery ; yet, if you 
For this day put him off. [duif 

Siew, It is beyond 
The iuTeniion of man. 

Beau/, ten. No : — say this only, [ irkUpert to him. 
And a» frivm me ; you apprehend me? 

,Sieie. Yes, sir. 

Seauf. ten. But it must be done gravely. 

Stew, Never douht me, sir. 

Beanf. ten. We'll diue in the great room, but 
let the mutfic 
And han<|net be prepared here. [Exit. 

Stere. This will make him 
Lo«e his dinner at the least, and thst will vex him. 
As for the bwretmeats, when they are trud under 

Let him take his share with tlie pages and the 
Or scramble in the rushes. [lackies, 

Enter BstOARoa. 

Beifi. 'TIS near twelve ; 
t keep a watch within me never misses. — 
Save thee, master steward ! 

Stew, You are most welcome, sir. 

Belg, Has thy lord slept well to-night ? I come 
to enquire. 
I had a foolish dream, that, sgaiust my will, 
Carried me from my lodging, to learn only 
How he s disposed. 

Siew. He*s in most perfect health, sir. 

Belg. Let me but see him feed heartily at dinner, 
And I'll belie\e to too ; for from that ever 
I make a certain judgment. 

Steir. It holds surely 
la \o«rown eor>tituti«>n* 

Arlf. And in all mea% 

'Tis the best symptom ; let us lose no time, 
Delay is dangerous. 

Siew, IVoib, sir, if I might. 
Without offence, deliver what my lord ha 
Committed to my trust, I shall receive it 
As a special favour. 

Belt/. WeMl see it, and discourse, 
.\m the proverb says, for health sake, after dinner^ 
Or rather after supper ; willingly then 
I'll walk a mile to hear thee. 

Stew, Nay, good sir, 
I will he brief and pithy. 

Be/ff. Prithee be so. 

Stew, He bid me say, of all his guests, that he 
Stands most affected to you, for the freedom 
And plainness of your manners. He ne*er ob- 
served you 
To twirl a dish about, you did not like of. 
All being pleasing to you ; or to take 
A say of venison, or stale fowl, by your nose, 
Which is a solecism at another's table ; 
But by strong eating of them, did confirm 
They never were delicious to your palate. 
But when they were mortified, as the Hugonot says. 
And so yout part grows greater ; nor do you 
Find &ult with the sauce, keen hunger being the 

Which ever, to your much praise, you bring with 
Nor will you with im|)ertinent relations, [you ; 
Which is a master-piece when meat's before you. 
Forget your teeth, to use your nimble tongue. 
But do the feat vou come for. 

Belff, Be advised. 
And end your jeering ; for, if you proceed, 
You'll feel, as I can eat I can be angry ; 
And beating may ensue. 

Stew, I'll take your counsel. 
And roundly come to the point : my lord much 

That you, that are a courtier as a soldier. 
In all things else, and every day can vary 
Yunr actions and discourse, continue constant 
To this one suit. 

Beiff, To one ! 'tis well I have one. 
Unpawn *d, in these days ; every cast commander 
Is not blest with the fortune, I assure you. 
But why this question ? does this offend him ? 

.Slew. Not much ; bur. he believes it is the rea- 
You ne'er presume to sit above the salt : [son 

And therefore, this <lav, our great admiral, 
With other states, being invited guests. 
He does entreat you to appear among them, 
In some fre:>li habit. 

Heiff. This staff shall not serve ! 

To beat the dog off; these are soldier's garmrnts, 1 
And so by consequence grow contrmptibh'. 

Siew, It has stung him. [/(x' /••. 

Beiff, 1 would 1 wt-re acquainted with the | "lay- 
In charity they might furnish me : but there is 
No fai h in brokers ; and for believing tailors, 
They are only to be read of, but not seen ; 
And sure they are confined to their own hells, 
And there they live invisible. Well, I must not 
Be fubb'd off thus : pray yon, report my 8erv;» e 
To the lord governor ; 1 w ill obey him : 
And though my wardrobe's poor, rather than lose 
His company at this feast, I will put on 
The richest suit 1 ha\e, and fill the chair 
That makes me worthy o^ p j [IZrfC 



ACT 11.. 

Stew. We are ihut of him, 
He will be seen no more here : hovr my fellows 
Will bless me for his absence ! he had starved 

Had be staid a little longer. Would he could, 
For his own sake, shift a shirt ! and that's the nt- 
Of his ambition : adien, good captain. [most 


SCENE II — The tame. 
KnUr BBAVPoar Mnior, and Bcaufort Junior. 

Beauf. $eu, 'Tis a strange fondness. 

Bevuf. Jun, 'Tis beyond example. 
His resolution to part with his estate. 
To make her dower the weightier, is nothing ; 
But to observe how curious he ia 
In his own person, to add ornament 
To his daughter's ravishing features, is the wonder. 
I sent a page of mine in the way of courtship 
This morning to her, to present my service, 
From whom I understand all. There he found him 
Solicitous in what shape she should appear ; 
This gown was rich, but the fashion stale; the 

Was quaint, and neat, but the stuff not rich enough : 
Then does he curse the tailor, and in rage 
Falls on her shoemaker, for wanting art 
To express in every circumstance the form 
Of her moat delicate foot ; then sits in council 
With much deliberation, to find out 
What tire would best adorn her ; and one chosen. 
Varying in his opinion, he tears off, 
And stamps it under foot; then tries a second,- 
A third, and fourth, and satisfied at length. 
With much ado, in that, he grows again 
Perplex'd and troubled where to place her jewels, 
To be most mark'd, and whether she should wear 
This diamond on her forehead, or between 
Her milkwhite paps, disputing on it both ways. 
Then taking in his hand a rope of pearl, 
(The best of France,) he seriously considers. 
Whether he should dispose it on her arm. 
Or on her neck ; with twenty other trifles, 
Too tedious to deliver. 

Beat^f. ten. I have known him 
From his first youth, but never yet observed. 
In all the passages of his life and fortunes. 
Virtues so mix'd with vices: valiant the world 

speaks him. 
But with that, bloody ; liberal in his gifts too. 
But to maintain his prodigal expense, 
A fierce extortioner ; an impotent lover 
Of women for a flash, but, his fires quench'd, 
Hating as deadly : the truth is, I am not 
Ambitious of this match ; nor will I cross you 
In your affections. 

Beauf. jun. I have ever found you 
(And 'tis my happiness) a loving father, 

ILoud music 
And careful of my good : — ^by the loud music. 
As you gave order, for his entertainment, 
He's come into the house. Two long hours since. 
The colonels, commissioners, and captains, 
To pay him all the rites his worth can challenge. 
Went to wait on him hither. 

BiUer IfAisroar, MoirrAiova, CHAJiojrr, Lakouh. Mon- 
TRsvuxs, TBaocfUMB, Usher, Page, and Waiting- wo- 
Beauf. ten. You are moat welcome. 

And what I speak to you, does from my heart 
Disperse itself to all. 

Afatef. You meet, my lord, 
Your trouble. 

Beauf. sen. Rather, sir, increase of honour. 
When you are pleased to grace my house. 

Beauf . jun. The favour 
Is doubled on my part, most worthy sir. 
Since your fair daughter, my iucomparable mis 

Deiirns us her presence. 

Maltf. View her well, brave Beaufort, 
But yet at distance ; you hereafter may 
Make your approaches nearer, when the priest 
Hath made it lawful : and were not she mine, 
I durst aloud proclaim it, Hymen never 
Put on his saffron-colour'd robe, to change 
A barren virgin name, with more good omens 
Than at her nuptials. Look on her again. 
Then tell me if she now appear the same. 
That she was yesterday. 

Beauf. sen. Being herself. 
She cannot but he excellent ; these rich 
And curious dressings, which in others might 
Cover defoi-mities, from her take lustre, 
Nor can add to her. 

Malef. You conceive her right. 
And in your admiration of her sweetness, 
You only can deserve her. Blush not, giri. 
Thou art above his praise, or mine ; nor can 
Obsequious Flattery, though she should use 
Her thousand oil'd tongues to advance thy worth. 
Give aught, (for that's impossible,) but take from 
Thy more than human graces ; and even then. 
When she hath spent herself with her be»t strength, 
The wrong she has done thee shall be so apparent, 
That, losing her own servile shape and name. 
She will be thought Detraction : but 1 
Forget myself ; and something whispers to me, 
I have said too much. 

Mont. I know not what to think on't. 
But there's some mystery in it, which 1 fear 
Will be too soon dii^cover'd. 

Maief 1 much wrong 
Your patience, noble sir, by too much hugging 
My proper issue, and, like the foolish crow. 
Believe my black brood swans. 

Beauf ten. There needs not, sir. 
The least excuse for this ; nay I must have 
Your arm, you being the master of the feabt. 
And this the mistress. 

Theoc. I am any thing 
That you shall please to make me. 

Beauf jun. Nay, 'tis yours, 
Without more compliment. 
Mont. Your will's a law, sir. 

[_Loud music. Exeunt BrAurnirr senior. Malri^oiit, 
Thbociunk, BicAuroRT Junior, Montaio.mb, Cnam(»nt» 
Lanour, Montrsvillk. 

Ush. Would 1 bad been bom a lord ! 

1 Worn. Or I a lady ! 

Page. It may be you were both hegot in court. 
Though bred up in the city ; for your motl:er». 
As I have heard, loved the lobby; and there, 

Are seen strange apparitions : and who knows 
But that some noble faun, heated with wine. 
And cloy*d with partridge, bad a kind of longing 
To trade in sprats } this needs no ex)KMdtion >— 
But can you yield a reason for your wishes ? 




Uth. Why, hftd I been born a lord» I had been 
no servant. 

1 fnam. And whereas no# neceaaity makes ns 
We bad been attended on. ([waiters, 

2 Worn, And mif^ht have slept then 

As long as we pleased, and fed when we had sto- 
And worn new clothes, nor lived as now, in hope 
Of a cast gown, or petticoat. 

Fa^. Yon are fools. 
And ignorant of jour happiness. Ere I was 
Sworn to the pantofle, I have heard my tutor 
Prove it by logic, that a servant's life 
Was better than his roaster's ; and by that 
I leam'd from him, if that my memory ML not, 
ru make it good. 

Uak. Proceed, my little wit 
In d eeiw M sgxio. 

Pmffe. Thus then : From the king 
To the beggar, by gradation, all are servants ; 
And yon must grant, the slavery is leas 
To study to please one, than many. 

Uth. True. 

Page. Well then ; and first to you, sir : you 
You serve one lord, but your lord serves a thousand, 
Besides his passions, that are his worst masters ; 
Yon must humour him, and he is bound to sooth 
Bvery grim sir above him : if he frown. 
For the least neglect you fear to lose your place ; 
B«t if, and with all slavish observation. 
From the minion's self, to the groom of his close- 
He booriy seeks not favour, he is sure [stool. 
To be eased of his office, though perhaps be bought 
Nay, metre ; that high disposer of all such [it. 
That are subordinate to him, serves and fears 
The fury of the many-headed monster, 
The giddy multitude : and as a horse 
la still a horse, for all his golden trappings, 
So your men of purchased titles, at their best, are 
Bat serving-men in rich liveries. 

Vthm Most rare infant ! 
Where leam'dst thou this morality ? 

Page. Why, thou dull pate, 
As 1 told thee, of my tutor. 

2 Worn. Now for us, boy. 

Page. ] am cut off :~ the governor. 

fisfor BaAUPOST wntor and BaArvoBT Junior, Sonrsnts 
getting furth a banqtul. 

Bea^f. ten. Quick, quick, sirs. 
See all things perfect. 

Serv. Let the blame be ours else. 

Bea^f. ten. And, as I said, when we are at the 
And high in our cups, for 'tis no feast without it, 
Especially among soldiers ; Tbeocrine 
Bnag retired, as that's no place for her, 
Take you occasion to rise from the table. 
And lose no opportunity. 

Bemuf. jum. "Tu my purpose ; 
And if 1 can win her to give her heart, 
I have a holy man in readiness 
To join our hands ; for the admiral, her father, 
Rrpenta him of his grant to me, and seems 
So £sr transported with a strange opinion 
Of her fair features, that, should we defer it, 
I think, ere kmg, he will believe, and* strongly. 
The danphin is not worthy of hu : I 
Am flancb amased with't. 

Beauf. ten. Nay, dispatch there, fellows. 

lExeunt Bsaupobt sanior and BsAUVoaT Junint 
Serv. We are ready, when yon please. Swe* t 
forms, your pardon ! 
It hns been such a busy time, I could not 
Tender that ceremonious respect 
'Which you deserve : but now, the great work 

I will attend the less, and with all care 
Observe and serve you. 

Page. This is a penn*d speech. 
And serves as a perpetual preface to 
A dinner made of fragments. 

Uth. Wc wait on you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. —The tame. A Banquet tet forth. 
Loud music. Enter Bkal'poiit senior. MALsronT. Mon- 


VTLLS, and Servants. 

Beat{f. ten. You are not merry, sir. 

Male/. Yes, my good lord, 
You have given us ample means to drown alt 

cares : — 
And yet I nourish strange thoughts, which I would 
Mo8t willingly destroy. iAtid0. 

Beauf. ten. Pray you take your place. 

Beauf. jun. And drink a health ; and let it be, if 
you please, 
To the worthiest of women. — Now observe him. 

Afalef. Give me the bowl ; since you do me the 
I will begin it. [honour, 

Cham. May we know her name, sir ? 

Malef. You shall ; 1 will not choose a foreign 
Nor yet our own, for that would relish of 
Tame flattery ; nor do their height of title. 
Or absolute power, confirm their worth and good- 
These being heaven's girts, and frequently con- 
On such as are beneath them ; nor will ] [ferr'd 
Name the king's mistress, howsoever she 
In his esteem may carry it : but if I, 
As wine gives liberty, may use my freedom, 
Not sway'd this way or that, with confidence, 
(And 1 will make it good on any equal,) 
If it must be to her whose outward form 
Is better'd by the beauty of her mind. 
She lives not that with jubtice can pretend 
An interest to this so sacred health, 
But my fair daughter. He that only doubts it, 
I do pronounce a villain : this to her, then. 


Mont. What may we think of this ? 

Beauf ten. It matters not. 

Lan. For my part, 1 will sooth him, rather than 
Draw on a quarrel. 

Cham, It is the safest coune ; 
And one I mean to follow. 

Beauf. jun. It has gone ronnd, sir. [Exit. 

Malef. Now you have done her right ; if there 
be any 
Worthy to second this, propose it boldly, 
I am your pledge. 

Beav^. ten. Let's pause here, if you please. 
And entertain the time with something else. 
Music there ! in some lofty strain ; the song too 
That I gave order for ; the new one call'd 
The Soldier' t Delight. T Music and a son^ 



ACT m. 

Entifr BstaAROS in armour, a eate tf carbines bp i it side. 

Belg. Who stops me now ? ^ 

Or who dares only say that I appear not 
In the most rich and glorious habit that 
Renders a man complete ? What court so set off 
With state and ceremonious pomp, .but, thus 
Accoutred, 1 may enter ? Or what feast, 
Though all the elements at once were ransack *d 
To store it with variety transccbdiog 
The curiousness and cost on Trajan's birth-day ; 
(Where princes only, and confederate kings, 
Did sit as guests, served and attended on 
By the senators of Rome,) at which a soldier, 
In this his natural and proper shape, 
Might not, and boldly, liU a seat, and by 
His presence make the great solemnity 
More honoured and remarkable ? 

Beauf. sen, 'Tis acknowledged ; 
And this a grace done to me unejcpected. 

Mont. But why in armour ? 

Jl/o/tf/. What's the mystery ? 
Pray you, reveal that. 

Belg. Soldiers out of action, 
That very rare ***** 
» « « « « jj^j^ jjjjg iinbidden guests. 
Bring their stools with them, for their own defence, 
At court should feed in gauntlets ; they may have 
Their fingers cut else : there your carpet knights. 
That never charged beyond a mistress lips, 
Are still most keen, and valiant. But to you, 
Whom it does most concern, my lord, I will 
Address my speech, and, with a soldier's freedom. 
In my reproof, return the bitter scoff 
You threw upon my poverty : you contemn'd 
My coarser outside, and from that concluded 
(As by your groom you made me understand) 
I vras unworthy to sit at your table, 
Among these tissues and embroideries, 
Unless I changed my habit : I have done it, 
And shew myself in that which I have worn 
In the heat and fervour of a bloody fight ; 
And then it was in fashion, not as now. 
Ridiculous and despised. This hath past throu^ 
A wood of pikes, and every one aim'd at it. 
Yet scom'd to take impression from their fury : 
With this, as still you see it, fresh and new, 
I've charged through fire that would have singed 

your sables. 
Black fox, and ermines, and changed the proud 

Of scarlet, though of the right Tyrian die. — 
But now, as if the trappings made the man. 
Such only are admired that come adom'd 
With what's no part of (hem. This is mine own. 
My richest suit, a suit I must not part from« 
But not r^;arded now : and yet remember, 
'Tis we that bring you in the means of feasts. 
Banquets, and revcds, which, when you possess, 
With barbarous ingratitude you deny us 
To be made sharers in the harvest, which 
Our sweat and industry reap'd, and sow'd for you. 
The silks you wear, we with our blood spin for 

This massy plate, that with the ponderous weight 
Does make your cupboards crack, we (unaff'righted 
With tempests, or the long and tedious way, 
Or dreadful monsters of the deep, that wait 
With open jaws still ready to devour us,) 
Ferch from the other world. Let it not then, 
li; Miter a(^, to your shame be spoken, 

That you, with no relenting eyes, look on 
Our wants that feed your plenty : or consume. 
In prodigal and wanton gifts on drones. 
The kingdom's treasure, yet detain from us 
The debt that with the hazard of our lives. 
We have made you stand engaged for ; or force us, 
.Against all civil government, in armour 
To require that, which with all willingness 
Should be tender'd ere demanded. 

Beauf. ten, I commend 
This wholesome sharpness in you, and prefer it 
Before obsequious tameness ; it shews lovely : 
Nor shall the rain of your good counsel fall 
Upon the barren sands, but spring up fruit. 
Such as you long have wish'd for. And the rest 
Of your profession, like you, discontented 
For want of means, shall, in their present payment. 
Be bound to praise your boldness : and hernffcer 
I will take order you shall have no cause. 
For want of change, to put your armour on, 
But in the face of an enemy ; not as now, 
Among your friends. To that which is due to yon. 
To funiish you hke yourself, of mine own bounty 
I'll add five hundred crowns. 

Cham, 1, to my power. 
Will follow the example. 

Mont. Take this, captain, 
'Tis all my present store ; but when yon please. 
Command me further. 

Lan. I could wish it more. 

Beig. This is the luckiest jest ever came from mm. 
Let a soldier use no other scribe to draw 
The form of his petition. This will speed 
When your thrice-humble supplications. 
With prayers for increase of health and honours 
To their grave lordships, shall, as soon as read. 
Be pocketed up, the cause no more remember'd : 
Wlien this dumb rhetoric [Aside.} — Well, I hvm 

a life. 
Which I, in thankfulness for your great favoors. 
My noble lords, when you please to command it. 
Must never think mine own. — Broker, be happy. 
These golden birds fly to thee. [JEvfC 

Beauf. sen. You are dull, sir. 
And seem not to be taken with the 
You saw presented. 

Malef. Passage ! I observed none, 
My thoughts were elsewhere busied. Ha I she is 
In danger to be lost, to be lost for ever. 
If speedily I come not to her rescue. 
For so my genius tells me 

Montr. What chimeras 
Work on your fantasy ? 

MaUf. Fantasies ! they are truths. 
Where is my Theocrine 1 you have plotted 
To rob me of my daughter ; bring me to her 
Or I'll call down the saints to witness for me. 
You are inhospitable. 

Beauf. sen. You amaze me. [ship 

Your daughter's safe, and now exchanging court- 
With my son, her servant. Why do you hear this 
With such distracted looks, since to that end 
You brought her hither ? 

Maief 'Tis confess'd I did ; 
But now, pray you, pardon me ; and, if yon please, 
Ere she delivers up her virgin fbrt, 
I would observe what is the art he uses 
In planting his artillery against it : 
She is my only care, nor must she yield. 
But upon noble terms. 





Rf0uf. ten, Tib so determined. 

Mmfrf. Yet I am jealous. 

Afomt. OTermnch, I fear. 
WbaC pasaions are these ? 

B«m^f. ant. Come, I will bring yoa 
Where joa, with these, if they so please, maj see 
The love-soene acted. 

MmUr. There is something more 
Than fiatherly love in this. [Aside. 

Momim We wait upon you. lExeunt. 

SCENE lY.^AMiher Room in BBAuroRT*8 


Emier BaAcvoar Junior, and TaaocaiirB. 

Btmttf, juM, Since then you meet my flames with 
equal ardour. 
As yon profess, it is Tour bounty, mistress. 
Nor mast I call it dd>t ; yet 'tis your glory, 
Tuat yoor excess supplies my want, and makes 

Strong in my weakness, which could never be, 
But in yoor good opinion. 

Tkeoe. You teach me, sir, 
What I should say ; since from your sun of favour, 
1 like din Phoebe, in herself obscure. 
B o rrow that light I have» 

Bmnnf.jun, Which you return 
With large increase, since that you will o'ercome, 
Aad I dare not contend, were you but pleased 
To make what's yet divided one. 

TAmc I have 
Already in my vrishes ; modesty 
Forbids me to speak more. 

Bea^, jun. But what assurance. 
But still fdthout offence, may I demand. 
That may secure me that your heart and tongue 
Join to make harmony ? 

Thtoe. Choose any, 
Suiting your love, distinguished from lust. 
To ask, and mine to grant. 

Emttr mi m distanct BsAvnmT Mfiior, MALaroRT, Moimut. 
viixs, and tiu rest. 

Benuf. ten. Yonder they are. 

Male/. At distance too ! 'tis yet well. 

Beau/. Jun. 1 may take then 
Thia hand, and with a thousand burning kisses, 
Swear 'tis the anchor to my hopes ? 

Tkeoe. You may, sir. 

Male/. Somewhat too much. 

Beau/, jun. And this done, view myself 
In these true mirrors ? 

Tkeoe, Ever true to you, sir : 
And may they lose the ability of sight. 
When they seek other object I 

Maie/, Tliis is more 
Than I can give consent to. 

Beau/, jun. And a kiss 
Thus printed on your lips, will not distaste you ? 

MaJ^. MerUps! 

Monir. Why, where should he kiss ? are you 
distracted ? 

Bea^f. jun. Then, when this holy man hath 
made it lawful IBringt in a Priest. 

Mai^. A priest so ready too! I must break 

Beau/, jun. And what's spoke here is register'd 

I must engross those favours to myself 
Which are not to be named. 

Theoc, All I can give. 
But what they are I know not 

Beau/, jun, I'll instruct you. 

Male/. O how my blood boils ! 

Montr. Pray you, contain yourself ; 
Methinks his courtship's modest. 

Beau/, jun. Then being mine. 
And wholly mine, the river of your love 
To kiosmeo and allies, nay, to your father, 
( Howe'er out of his tenderness he admires you,) 
Must in the ocean of your affection 
To me, be swallow'd up, and want a name. 
Compared with what you owe me. 

Theoc. 'Tis most fit, sir. 
The stronger bond that biuds me to you, must 
Dissolve the weaker. 

Male/ I am ruin*d, if 
I come not fairly off. 

Beau/, ten. 'There's nothing wanting 
But your consent. 

Male/. Some strange invention aid me ! 
This ! yes, it must be so. lAtid^. 

Montr. Why do you stagger. 
When what you seem'd so much to wish, is offer'd, 
Both parties being agreed too ? 

Beau/, ten, I'll not court 
A grant from you, nor do I wrong your daughter. 
Though I say my son deserves her. 

Male/. 'Tis far from 
My humble thoughts to undervalue him 
I cannot prize too high : for howsoever 
From my own fond indulgence I have sung 
Her praises with too prodigal a tongue, 
That tenderness laid by, I stand confirm 'd, 
All that I fancied excellent in her. 
Balanced with what is really his own, 
Holds weight in no proportion. 

Montr. New turnings ! 

Beau/ ten. Whither tends this ? 

Male/, Had you observed, my lord, 
With what a sweet gradation he woo'd. 
As I did punctually, yon cannot blame her. 
Though she did listen with a greedy ear 
To his fair modest offers : but so great 
A good as then flow'd to her, should have been 
With more deliberation entertain'd, 
And not with such haste swallow'd ; she shall first 
Consider seriously what the blessing is, 
And in what ample manner to give thanks for't. 
And then receive it. And though I bhall think 
Short minutes years, till it be perfected, 
I will defer that v«hich 1 most desire ; 
And so must she, till longing expectation. 
That heightens pleasure, makes her truly know 
Her happiness, and with what outstretch'd arms 
^^lle must embrace it. 

Beau/ jun. This is crriousness 
Beyond example. 

Male/. Let it then begin 
^rum me : in what's mine own I'll use my will. 
And yield no further reason. I lay claim to 
The liberty of a subject. [Uut^tet /orward and 

teUet Thkoc.] — F«ll not off. 
But be obedient, or by the hair 
I'll drag thee home. Censure me as you please, 
I'll take my own way. — O, the inward Area 
That, wanting vent, consume me ! 



AOT IV. i 

Montr, 'Tis most certain 
He's mad, or worse. 

Beaxif, »en. How worse ? 

Montr, Nay, there I leave you; 
My thoughts are free. 

Deauf, jun. This I foresaw. 

Beau/, sen. Take comfort, 
He shall walk in clouds, but 1*11 discover him : 
And he shall find and feel, if he excuse not, 
And with strong reaitons, this gross injary, 
I can make use of my authority. ISxeunt, 



SCENE I,— A Room in Malefort's Boute, 
Enter MALSVoar. 
What flames are these my wild desires fan in me? 
The torch that feeds them was not lighted at 
Thy altars, Cupid : vindicate thyself. 
And do not own it ; and confirm it rather. 
That this infernal brand, that turns me cinders, 
Was by the snake-hair'd sisters thrown into 
My guilty bosom. O that 1 was ever 
Accnrs'd in having issue ! my son's blood, 
(That like the poison'd shirt of Hercules 
Grows to each part about me,) which my hate 
Forced from him with much willingness, may 

Some weak defence ; but my most impious love 
To my fair daughter Theocrine, none ; 
Since my affection (rather wicked lust) 
That does pursue her, is a greater crime 
Than any detestation, with which 
1 should afflict her innocence. With what cunning 
1 have betray 'd myself, and did not feel 
The scorching heat that now with fury rages ! 
Why was I tender of her ? cover'd with 
That fond disguise, this mischief stole upon me. 
I thought it no offence to kiss her often, 
Or twine mine arms about her softer neck, 
And by false shadows of a father's kindness 
I long deceived myself : but now the effect 
Is too apparent. How I strove to be 
In her opinion held the worthiest man 
In courtehip, form, and feature ! envying him 
That was preferred before me ; and yet then 
My wishes to myself were not discover'd. 
But still my fires increased, and with delight 
1 would call her mistress, willingly forgetting 
The name of daughter, choosing rather she 
Should style me servant, than, with reverence. 

father : 
Yet, waking, I ne'er cherish'd obscene hopes, 
But in my troubled slumbers often thought 
She was too near to me, and them sleeping blush d 
At my imagination ; which pass'd, 
(My eyes l^ing open not condemning it,) 
1 was ravish'd with the pleasure of the dream. 
Yet, spite of these temptations, I have reason 
That pleads against them, and commands me to 
Extinguish these abominable fires : 
And I will do it ; I will send her back 
To him that loves her UwfuUy. Within there I 

EnUr Tnwocanm. 

Theoc. Sir, did you call ? 

Malef, I look no sooner on her. 
But all my boasted power of reason leaves mc. 
And passion again usurps her empire. — 
Does none else wait me ? 

Tkeoe, I am wretched, sir. 
Should any owe more duty. 


Malef. This is worse 
Than disobedience ; leave me. 

Theoe, On my knees, sir, 
As I have ever squared my will by yours. 
And liked and loath'd with your eyes, I beseech 
To teach me what the nature of my fault i«, [you 
That hath incens'd you ; sure 'tis one of weakness 
And not of malice, which your gentler temper. 
On my submission, I hope, will pardon : 
Which granted by your piety, if that I, 
Out of the least neglect of mine hereafter. 
Make you remember it, may I sink ever 
Under your dread command, sir. 

Mal^, O my stars I 
Who can but doat on this humiUty, 

That sweetness Lovely in her tears !- 

That seem'd to lessen in their weight but now. 
By this grow heavier on me. lAtidt, 

' Theoc, Dear sir — 
Malef- Peace! 
I must not hear thee. 
Theoc, Nor look on me ? 
Malef, No, 
Thy looks and words are charms. 

Theoc, May they have power then 
To calm the tempest of your wrath ! Alas, sir. 
Did I but know in what I give offence. 
In my repentance I would show my sorrow 
For what is past, and, in my care hereafter. 
Kill the occasion, or cease to be : 
Since life, without your favour, is to me 
A load I would cast off. 

MaUf O that my heart 
Were rent in sunder, that I might expire. 
The cause in my death buried ! yet I know 


With such prevailing oratory 'tis begg'd from me. 
That to deny thee would convince me to 
Have suck'd the milk of tigers ; rise, and I, 
But in a perplex'd and mysterious method. 
Will make relation : That which all the world 
Admires and cries up in thee for perfections. 
Are to unhappy me foul blemishes. 
And mulcts in nature. If thou hadst been bom 
Deform d and crooked in the features of 
Thy body, as the manners of thy mind ; 
Moor-lipp'd, flat-nosed, dim^ycd, and beetle- 

With a dwarfs stature to a giant*s waist ; 
Sour-breath'd, with claws for fingers on thy hands. 
Splay-footed, gouty-legg'd, and over all 
A loathsome leprosy had spread itself, 
And made thee shunn'd of human fellowahips ; 
I had been blest. 

Theoe. Why, would you wish a monster 
(For such a one, or wone, you have described) 
To call you father? 

Male/. Rather than as now, 
(Though I had ilrown'd thee fur it in the sea,) 
Appearing, asi thou dost, a new Pandora, 
With Juuo's fiiir cow-eyes, Minenra's brow, 
Aurora's blushing cheeks, Hebe's fresh youth, 
Venus' soft paps, with Thetis' silver feet 

Theoc. Sir, you have liked and loved them, and 
oft forced, 
With yoor hyperboles of praise poor'd on them, 
My modesty to a defensive red, 
Strew'd o'er that paleness, which jon then were 
To style the purest white. [pleased 

Maief, And in that cap 
I drank the poison I now feel dispersed 
Through every vein and artery. Wherefore art 
So cruel to me ? This thy outward shape [thou 
Brought a fierce war against me, not to be 
By fl««h and blood resisted : but to leave me 
No ho|ie of freedom, from the magazine 
Of tliy mind's forces, treacherously thou drew'st 
Auxiliary helps to strengthen that [up 

Which was already in itself too potent. 
Thy beauty gave the first charge, but thy duty, 
Secondi*d with thy care and watcliful studies 
To please, and serve my will, in all that mi^ht 
Raise up content in roe, like thunder brake through 
AU op|K>sition : and, my rank's of reason 
Di.^banded, my victorious passions fell 
To bloody execution, and compell'd me 
^^ ith willing hands to tie on my own chains. 
And with a kind of flattering joy, to glory 
III IVY raptivitv. 

Theoc. 1. in this you speak, sir. 
Am iuMorance itftelf. 

Mulef And so continue ; 
Pur kno»U'dt;e of the arms thou bear'st against me, 
Wiiuld make thee cur^ thyself, but yield no aids 
For thee to help me : and 'twere cruelty 
1 II me to wound that spotless innocence. 
How e'er it make me guilty. In a word. 
Thy plurisy of goodness is thy ill ; 
Thy virtues vices, and thy humble lowness 
Far worse than stubborn sullenness and pride ; 
Thy looks, that ravish all beholders else. 
As killing as the basilisk's, thy tears, 
Elxpress'd in sorrow for the much I suffer, 
A Klorious insultation, and no sign 
Of pity in thee ; and to hear thee speak 
In thy defence, though but in silent action, 
Wotjid make the hurt, already deeply fester'd. 
Incurable : and therefore, as thou wouldst not 
By thy presence raise fresh ftiries to torment me, 
I do conjure thee by a father's power, 
(And 'tis my curse I dare not think it lawful 
"To sue unto thee in a nearer name,) 
Without reply to leave me. 

TAese; My obedience 
Never learn 'd yet to question your commands, 
But willingly to serve them ; yet I must. 
Since that your will forbids the knowledge of 
My fisnlt, lament my fortune. {,Ex\u 

MaUf, O that I 
Have reason to discern the better way. 
And yet pursue the worse I When I look on her, 
I bum with heat, and in her absence freeze 
With tlie cold blasts of jealousy, that another 
Should e'er taste those delights that are denied me ; 
And which of these afflictions brings less torture, 
I hardly can distinguish : is there then 
No meas ? no ; so my understanding tells me, 

And that by my cross fates it is determined 
That I am both wars wretched. 

Enter Usher and Hoirraaviixa. 

Uih. Yonder he walks, sir. 
In much vexation he hath sent my lady, 
His daughter, weeping in ; but what the cause is, 
Rests yet in supposition. 

Montr. I guess at it. 
But must be further satisfied ; I will sift him 
In private, therefore quit the room. 

Ush. I am gone, sir. iExit, 

Malef, Ha ! who disturbs me .' Montreville I 
your pardon. 

Montr, Would you could grant one to yourself I 
I speak it 
With the assurance of a friend, and yet. 
Before it be too late, make reparation 
Of the gross wrong your indiscretion ofier'd 
To the governor and his son ; nay, to yourself ; 
For there begins my sorrow. 

Malef, Would I had 
No greater cause to mourn, than their displeasure ! 
For I dare justify 

Montr, We must not do 
All that we dare. We're private, friend. I oh* 
Your alterations with a stricter eye, [served 

Perhaps than others ; and, to lose no time 
I n repetition, your strange demeanour 
To your sweet daughter. 

Malef. Would you could find out 
Some other theme to treat of 1 

Montr, None but this ; 
And this I'll dwell on ; how ridiculous, 
And subject to construction 

Malef. No more I 

Montr. You made yourself, amazes me, and if 
The frequent trials interchanged between us 
Of love and friendship, be to their desert 
Esteem 'd by you. as they hold weight with me, 
No inward trouble should be of a shape 
So horrid to yourself, but that to me 
You stand bound to discover it, and unlock 
Your secret'st thoughts ; though the most inno- 
Loud crying sins. [cent were 

Malef, And so, perhaps, they are : 
And therefore be not curious to learn that 
Which known, must make you hate me. 

Montr. Think not so. 
I am yours in right and wrong : nor shall you find 
A verbal friendship in me, but an active ; 
And here I vow, 1 shall no sooner know 
What the disease is, but, if you give leave, 
I will apply a remedy. Is it madaess ? 
I am familiarly acquainted with 
A deap-read man, that can with charms and herbs 
Restore you to your reason : or, suppose 
You are bewitch'd, — he with more potent spells 
And magical rites shall cure you. Is't heaven'r 

With penitence and sacrifice appease it. 

Beyond this, there is nothing that I can 
Imagine dreadful : in your fame and fortunes 
You are secure ; your impious son removed too. 
That render'd you suspected to the state ; 
And your fair daughter 

Malef, Oh ! press me no further. 

Montr, Are you wrung there I Why, what of 
her ? hath she 
Made shipwreck of her honour, or consuirod 



ilCT IT. 

Against your life ? or Mal'd a contract with 
'> he devil o'* hell, for the recovery of 
Her young Inamorato ? 

yfnlef. None of these ; 
And yet, what most increase the wonder in yon, 
bring innocent in herself, she hath wounded me ; 
But where, enquire not. Yet, I know not how 
I am persuaded, froin my confidence 
Of your vow'd love to me, to trust you with 
My dearest secret ; praj you chide me for it. 
Hut with a kind of pity, not insulting 
(>n my calamitv. 

Montr, Forward. 

MaUf. This same daughter 

Monir. What is her fault ? 

Male/. She is too fair to me. 

Monir. Ha! how is this ? 

Male/. And I have look'd upon her 
Mure than a father should, and languiah to 
Enjoy her as a hnahand. 

MatUr, Heavfii forbid it ! 

MaUJ, And this is all the comfort yon can 
give roe! 
Where are your promised aids, your charms, your 

Your deep-read scholar's speUs and magic rites ? 
Can all tliese disenchant me ? No, I must be 
My own physician, and upon myself 
Practise a desperate cnre. 

Montr, Do not contemn me : 
Enjoin me what you please, wkh any hazard 
ril undertake iL What means have jou practised 
To quench this hellish fire ? 

Male/. All I could think on. 
But to no purpose ; and yet sometimes absence 
Does yield a kind of intermission to 
The fury of the fit. 

Montr, See her no more, then. 

Malef. 'Tis my last refuge ; and 'twas my intent. 
And still 'tis, to desire your help. 

Montr, Command it. 

MaltJ, Thus then : you have a fort, of which 
you are 
The absolute lord, whither, I pray you, bear her : 
And that the sight of her may not sgain 
Nourish those fiames, which I feel something 

By all the ties of friendship I conjure you. 
And by a solemn oath you must confirm it. 
That though my now odm'd passions should rage 
Than ever heretofore, and so compel me [higher 
Once more to wish to see her : though I use 
Penuasiona mix'd with threat'nings, (nay, add to 

That I, this fSuling, should vrith hands held up 

Kneel at your feet, and bathe them with my tean,) 
Prayera or curses, vows or .imprecations. 
Only to look upon her, though at distance. 
You still must be obdurate. 

Mwtr, If it be 
Your pleasure, sir, that I shall be unmoved, 
I will endeavour. 

Malef, You must swear to be 
Inexorable, as you would prevent 
The greatest mischief to your friend, that &te 
Could throw upon him. 

Momtr, WeU, I will o^ you. 
But how the governor will be answered yet. 
And *tis natorial, it not consider'd. 

Malef, Leave that to me. TU presently give 
How you shall surprise her; be not frighted vriih 
Her excLimations. 

Monir. Be you constant to 
Your resolution, I will not fail 
In what concerns my part. 

MaUf. Be ever bless'd for't ! lExe»i»i. 

SCENE U.-^A Street. 
Enter BaArvoar Junior, Chasiort, and LAiioea, 

Chnm. Not to be spoke with, say you? 

Beauf jun. No. 

Lan. Nor you 
Admitted to have conference with her ? 

Beauf. jun. Neither. 
His d«M)rs are fast li>ck'd up, and solitnde 
Dwells round about them, no access allow*d 
To friend or ent-my ; but 

Cham, Nay, be not moved, sir ; 
Let his passion work, and, like a hot-rein'd horse, 
'Twill quickly tire itself. 

Beauf jitn. Or in his death. 
Which, for her sake, till now 1 have forbom, 
I will revenge the injury he hath done to 
My true and lawful love. 

Lan, How does your fisher, 
The governor, relish it ? 

Beauf, jun. Troth, he never hsd 
Affection to the match ; yet in his pity 
To me, he's gone in person to his house. 
Nor will he be denied ; and if he find not 
Strong and fair reasons, Malefort will hear from 
In a kind he does not look for. [him 

Cham. In the mean time, 
Prey you put on cheerful looks. 

Enter Moxtaichic 

Beauf jun. Mine suit my fortune. 

Lan. O, here's Montaigne. 

Mont. I never could have met you 
More opportunely. TU not stale the jest 
By my relation ; but if you will look on 
The malecontent Belgarde, newly rigg*d up. 
With the train that follows him, 'twill be an object 
Worthy of your noting. 

Beauf jun. Look you the comedy 
Make good the prologue, or the scorn will dwell 
Upon yourself. 

Mont. I'll hazard that ; observe now. 

BmtOAMDm come* out e/kis house in a ffoUant habit / Hmp$ 
ol the door with hie eword drawn. 

Several voieet trithin. Nay, captain ! glorious 
Belg. Fall back, rascals ! [captain ! 

Do you make an owl of me ? this day I will 
Receive no more petitions. — 
Here are bills of all occasions, and all sixes ! 
If this be the pleasure of a rich suit, wmild I were 
Again in my buff jerkin, or my armour ! 
Then I walk*d securely by my creditora' noses. 
Not a dog mark'd me ; every officer shunn'd roe. 
And not one lousy prison would receive me : 
But now, as the ballad says, / am turned gallant. 
There does not live that thing 1 owe a sous to. 
But does torment me. A faithful cobler told me. 
With his awl in his hand, 1 was behindhand with 




2 Court, We'll find a time to fit him. 

lExetint B«wd and Courtesans. 

Beanf. ten. Why in this heat, Belgarde ? 

Belg. You are the cause oft. 

Reauf. sen. Who, I ? 

Belg. Yes, your pied livery and your gold 
Driiw these vexations on me ; pray yon strip me, 
And let me be as I was : I will not lose 
The pleasures and the freedom which 1 had 
In my certain poverty, for all the wealth 
Fair France is proud of. 

Beanf. sen. We at better leisure 
Will learn the cause of this. 

Beanf. jun. What answer, sir. 
From the admiral ? 

Beanf. sen. None ; hin daughter is removed 
To the fort of Montreville, and be himself 
In person fled, but where, is not discovered : 
I could tell you wonders, but the time denies me 
Fit liberty. In a word, let it suffice 
The power of our great master is contemned, 
The sacred laws of God and man profaned ; 
And if I sit down with this injury, 
I am unworthy of my place, and thou 
Of my acknowledgment : draw up all the troops ; 
As I go, I will instruct you to what purpose. 
Such as have power to punish, and yet spare, 
From fear or from connivance, others ill. 
Though not in act, assist them in their will. 



SCENE I. — A Street near Malkvort's House 

Enter MoimurriLLB ami Benranta. vith THSocaiMB, Page, 
and Waiting-womai. 

Montr. Bind them, and gag their months sure ; 
Will be your convoy. [I alone 

1 Worn, Madam 1 

2 IVom, Dearest lady ! 

Foffe, Let me fight for my mbtress. 

Serv. Tis in vain, 
Litile cockerel of the kind. 

Montr, Away with them, 
And do as 1 command you. 

{Exeunt Servants wUh Page and Walting-womea. 

Theoe, Montreville, 
You are my father's friend ; nay more, a soldier. 
And if a right one, as I hope to find you. 
Though in a lawful war yon bad surprised 
A city, that bow'd humbly to your pleasure. 
In honour you stand bound to guard a viigin 
From violence ; but in a free estate. 
Of which you are a limb, to do a wrong 
Which noble enemies never consent to, 
Is such an insolence 

Montr, How her heart beats I 
Much like a partridge in a sparhawk's foot. 
That with a panting silence does lament 
The &te she cannot fly from ! — Sweet, take com- 
You are safe, and nothing is intended to joo. 
But love and service. 

Theoe, They came never clothed 
In force and outrage. Upon what assurance 
(Remembering only that my &ther lives, 
Who will not tamelv suffer the disgrace,) 
Have yon presumed to hurry me from Us honse^ 
And, as I were not worth the waiting on. 
To snatch me from the duty and attendance 
Of my poor servants ! 

Montr, Let not that afflict yon. 
You shall not want observance ; I will be 
Your page, your woman, parasite, or fool. 
Or any other property, provided 
You answer my affection. 

Theoe. In what kind f 

Montt. As yon had done yoong Beanfort's. 

Theoe, Howl 

Montr, So, lady; 
Or. if the name of wife appear a yoke 

Too heavy for your tender neck, so I 
Enjoy you as a private friend or mistress, 
'Twill be sufficient. 

Theoe. Blessed angels guard me ! 
What frontless impudence is this ? what devil 
Hath, to thy certain ruin, tempted thee 
To ofTer me this motion ? by my ho|>es 
Of after joys, submission nor repentance 
Shall expiate this foul intent. 

Montr, Intent ! 
'Tis more, I'll make it act 

Theoe, Ribald, thou darest not : 
And if (and with a fever to thy soul) 
Thou but consider that I have a father. 
And such a father, as, when this arrives at 
His knowledge, as it shall, the terror of 
His vengeance, which as sure as fate must foUow, 
Will make thee curse the hour in which Inst 

taught thee 
To nourish these bad hopes ;— and 'tis my woo^r 
Thou darest forget how tender he is of me. 
And that each shadow of wrong done to me, 
Will raise in him a tempest not to be 
But with thy heart-blood calm'd : this, when I see 

Montr. As thou shalt never. 

Theoe. Wilt thou murder me ? 

Montr. No, no, 'tis otherwise determined, iboL 
The master which in passion kills his slave 
That may be useful to him, does himself 
The injury : know, thou most wretched creature, 
That father thou presumest upon, that father. 
That, when I sought thee in a noble way. 
Denied thee to me, fancying in his hope 
A higher match, firom his excess of dotage. 
Hath in his bowels kindled such a flame 
Of impious and most unnatural lust. 
That now he fears his furious desires 
May force him to do that, he shakes to think oo. 

Theoe, O me, most wretched ! 

Montr, Never hope again 
To blast him with those eyes : their golden beams 
Are unto him arrows of death and bell, 
But unto me divine artillery. 
And therefore, since what I so long in vain 
Pnrsned, is offer'd to me, and by him 
Given np to my possession ; do not flatter 
Thyself with an imaginary hope. 
But that I'll take occasion by the foreK»ck, 



ACT ^ 


Reaiions, or ar^mente. yoa could proposef 
I ever should admit you Co her tight, 
Much lesii restore her to you. 

Male/, Are we soldiers, 
And stand on oaths ! 

Montr, It is beyond my knowledge 
In what we are more worthy, than in keeping 
Our words, much more our vows. 

Malef. Heaven pardon all ! 
How many thutibands, in tfur heat of wine, 
Quarrels, nmi pi ly, and in our younger days. 
In private I may say, between ourselres, 
In points of love, have we to answer for, 
Should we be scrnpultms that way ? 

Mentr, You sav well : 
And very aptly call to memory 
Two oetbs, against all ties and rights of friendship 
Broken by you to me. 

Maief, No more of that. 

Montr, Yes, 'tis material, and to the purpose : 
The first (and think upon't) was, when I brought 

As a visitant to fny mistress then, (the mother 
Of this same daughter,) whom, with dreadful words. 
Too hideous to remember, you swore deeply 
For my sake never to attempt ; yet then. 
Then, when yon had a sweet wife of your own, 
1 know not with what arts, philtres, and charms 
(Unless in wealth and fame you were above me^ 
Yoa won her from me ; and, her grant obtain'd, 
A marriage with the second waited on 
The burial of the first, that to the world 
Brought your dead xon : this 1 sat tamely down by, 
Wanting, indeed, occasion and power 
To be at the height revenged. 

Malef, Yet this you seem'd 
Freely to pardon. 

Montr, As perhaps I did. 
Y'our daughter Theocrine growing ripe, 
(Her mother too deceased,) and tit for marriage, 
1 was a suitor for her, had your word. 
Upon your honour, and our friendship made 
Authentical, and ratified with an oath. 
She should be mine : but vows with you being like 
To your religion, a nose of wax 
To be tum'd every way, that very day 
The governor's son but making his approaches 
Of courtship to her, the wind of your ambition 
For her advancement, scatter'd the thin sand 
In which you wrote your full consent to me. 
And drew you to his party. What hath pass'd 
You bear a register in your own bosom, [sintre. 
That can at large infonn you. 

Malef, Montreville, 
I do confess all that you charge me with 
To be strong truth, and that I bring a cause 
Most miserably guilty, and acknowledge 
That though your goodness made me mine own 
I should not shew the least compassion IJudge, 
Or mercy to myself. O, let not yet 
My foulness taint your pureness, or my falsehood 
Divert the torrent of your loyal faith ! 
My ills, if not return*d by you, will add 
Lustre to your much good ; and to o'ercome 
With noble sufferance, will express your strength. 
And triumph o'er my weakness. If you please too, 
My black deeds being only known to you. 
And, m surrendering up my daughter, buried. 
You not alone make me your slave, (for I 
At DO put do deserve the name of fHcnd,) 

But in your own breast raise a monument 
Of pity to a wretch, on whom with justice 
You may express all cruelty. 

Montr, You much move roe. 

Malef, O that I could but hope it ! To revenge 
An injury, is proper to the wishes 
Of feeble women, that want strength to act it : 
But to have power to punish, and yet pardon, 
Peculiar to princes. See ! these knees, iKnetlB, 
That have been ever stiff to bend to heaven, 
To you are supple. Is there aught beyond this 
That may speak my submission ? or can pride 
(Though I well know it is a stranger to you) 
Desire a feast of more humility, 
To kill her growing appetite ? 

Montr, I required not 
To be sought to this poor way ; yet 'tis so far 
A kind of satisfaction, that 1 will 
Dispense a little with those serious oaths 
You made me take : your daughter shall come to 
I will not say, as you deliver'd her, [you. 

But, as she is, you may dispone of her 
As you shall think most requisite. lExiL 

Malef, His last words 
Are riddles to me. Here the lion's force 
Would have proved useless, and, against my nature, 
Compell'd me from the crocodile to borrow 
Her counterfeit tears: there's now no turning 

May I but quench these fires that rage within me. 
And fall what can fall, 1 am arm'd to bear it ! 

Enter Soldios ^r/otr, thrusting fprtk THaocniifR ; A«r 
garwtents loosf^ her hair duht veiled. 

2 Sold, You must be packing. 

Theoe, Hath he robb'd me of 
Mine honour, and denies me now a room 
To hide my shame ! 

2 Sold, My lord the admiral 
Attends your ladyship. 

1 Sold, Close the port, and leave them. 

[_Exetmt SoMicra 

Malef. Ha ! who is this ? how altered ! how 
deform 'd ! 
It cannot be : and yet this creature haa 
A kind of a resem)>lanc'e to my daughter. 
My Theocrine ! but as different 
From that she was, as bo<lies dead are, in 
Their best perfections, from what they were 
When they had life and motion. 

Theoc. 'Tisi most true, sir ; 
I am dead indeed to all but misery. 
O come not near me, sir, 1 am infectious : 
To look on me at distance, is as dangerous 
.\*, from a pinnacle's cloud-ki88*ng spire. 
With giddy eyes to view ihe deep descent ; 
But to acknowledge me, a certain ruin. 
O, sir. 

Malef. Speak, TheocHne, force me not 
To further question ; my tears already 
Have choked my ^ital spirits. 

Theoc, Pray you turn away 
Your face and hear me, and with my last breath 
Give me leave to accuse you t What offence, 
From my first infancy, did I commit. 
That for a punishiueut you should give up 
My virgin chastity to the treacherous guard 
Of goatish Montreville? 

Mal^, What hath he done ? 

Thtoe, Abused me, sir, by violence; and this told. 




I euinoC live to speak more : waaj the cause 
In 700 find paidoo, bat tbe ipeeding cune 
Of a ravtth'd maid fidl heavy, heavy on him ! — 
Beanfoit, my lawful love, farewell for ever. (Diet, 
M^Jkf' TU[e not thy flight 10 toon, immaculate 
lis fled already. — How the innocent, [spirit ! 
As in a gentle ilnmbrr, pa»s away I 
Bnt to cnt off the knotty thread of life 
la guilty men, roost fori'e stem Atropos 
To use her sharp knife often. 1 would help 
The edge of her s with the t^harp (loint of mine. 
But that 1 dare not die. till I have rent 
Hiis dtig's heart piecemeal. O, that 1 had wings 
To scale these wails, or tliat my hands were can- 
To borr their flinty rides, that 1 might bring 
The villain io the reach oi my good sword ! 
^le Turkish empire offer*d for Lid ransom. 
Should not redeem hiii lift*. O that mv vuice 


Were loud as thunder, and with hornd soiinJs 

Might force a dreadful passage to his ears. 

And through them reach his soul ! Libidinous 

monster ! 
Foul ravisher ! as thou durst do a deed 
Which forced the sun to hide his glorious face 
Behiad a sable mask of clouds, appear. 
And as a man defend it ; or, like me, 
Shew some compunction for it. 

Enter Monasnuji oa ike Wallt, above, 

Momir. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Mmief, Is this an object to raise mirth ? 

MoiUr. Yea, yes. 

Mmief, My daughter's dead. 

Momir. Thou had»t best follow her ; 
Or, if thou art the thing thou art reported. 
Thou shouldst have led the way. Do tear thy hair, 
Like a village nurse, and mourn, while I laugh at 
Be but a just examiner of thyself, [thee. 

And in an equal balance poise the nothing, 
Or Uttle mischief 1 have done, compared 
With the ponderous weight of thine: and how 

canst thou 
Accuse or argue with me ? mine was a rape. 
And she being in a kind contracted to me, 
Tbe fact may challenge some qualification : 
but thy intent made nature's self run backward. 
And done, had caused an earthquake. 

Enter Si>ldiers above. 

1 Sold, Captain * 
Montr. Ha! 

2 Sdd. Our outworks are surprised, the centinel 
The corps de guard defeated too. [slain, 

Montr. By whom ? 

I Soid. The sudden storm and darkness of the 
Forbids the knowledge ; make up ispeedily, 
Or all is lost. IKxeunt. 

Miontr. In the devil's name, whence comes this? 

lA storm / with thuntier ami lujhtning. 
Malef. Do, do rage on ! rend open, ^'2olus, 
Thv orazen prison, and let loose at once 
Thv stormy issue I Blustering Boreas, 
Aided with all the gales the pilot numbers 
L'|>on his compass, cannot raise a tempest 
Through the vast region of the air. like that 
I feel within me : for I am possess 'd 
With whirlwinds, and each guilty thought to mc is 
A dreadful hurricano. Though this centre 

Labour to bring forth earthouakea, and hell open 
Her wide-stietch'd jaws, and let out all her furies, 
They cannot add an atom to the mountain 
Of fears and terrors that each minute threaten 
To fidl on my accursed he^. — 

Enttr the Ghost ^ povng If ALsrowr, naked from tt« 
teaitt,/Htl f/ troynitt, Uuding in the Shadow of a L«4y« 
her foe leprous. 

Ha ! M*t fimcy ? 
Or hath hell heard me, and makes proof if I 
Dare stand the trial ? Yes, I do ; and now 
I view these appariMOus, I feel 
1 once did know the substances. For what come 

you ? 
Are your aerial forms deprived of language, 
And so denied to tell me, that by signs 

IThe GhMts MM rarioui pe$imr,!9. 
Yon bid me ask here of myself ? Tis so : 
And there is something here makes answer for yon. 
You come to lance my sear'd up conscience; yea. 
And to instruct me, that those thunderbolts. 
That hurl'd me headlong from the height of glory. 
Wealth, honours, worldly happiness, were forged 
Upon the anvil of my impious wrongs. 
And cruelty to you ! I do confess it ; 
And that my lust compelling me to make way 
For a second wife, 1 poison 'd thee ; and that 
The cause (which to the woild is undiscovered) 
That forced thee to shake off thy filial duty 
To me, thy father, had its spring and source 
From thy impatience, to know thy mother, 
That with all duty and obedience served me, 
(For now with horror I acknowledge it,) 
Removed unjustly : yet, thou being my son, 
Wert not a competent judge mark'd out by heaven 
For her revenger, which thy falling by 
My weaker hand confirm'd. — [Answered stili by 

$ign*.'\ — 'Tis granted by thee. 
Can any penance expiate my guilt. 
Or can repentance save me ? — 

The Ghosts disappear. 
They are vanished ! 
What's left to do then ? I'll accuse my fate. 
That did not fashion me for nobler uses : 
For if those stars, cross to me in my birth. 
Had not denied their prosperous influence to it. 
With peace of conscience, like to innocent men, 
I miifht have cta.<ed to he, and not as now, 

To curse my cause of being 

{Ue it kiU'it teith a/lath qf lightning 

Enter Hrioamik, with S<ildivn. 

Be^ff. Here's a uisht 
To season my silk>! Buff-jerkin, now I miss thee: 
Thou hast endured many foul nights, but never 
One like to this. How tint- my feather looks now! 
Just like a c.ipon's tail atcTn out of the pen, 
And hid in the >ink ; and vet 't had been dishonour 
To have charged witl:out it.— Wilt thou never 

cease ? 
Is the petard, as I gave, fasten'd 
On the ])Ortcunis ? 

I ,Soi*i. It hath been attempted 
By divers, but in vain. 

Brig. The>e are your gallants. 
That at a feast take the first place, poor I 
Hardly allow'd to follow ; marry, in 
These foolish buMiie>se^ they .ire content 
That I shall have pre«edi-n e : 1 nineh thank 
Their manners, or tlieir tear. Si-cond me, soldiers | 




They bare had no time to andermine, or if 
They hare, it it bat blowing np, and fetching 
A caper or tvo in the air ; and I will do it. 
Ratber than blow my nails here. 
2 SM. O brave captain ! IBseunt 

An Alarum t noite and erUt within, A/ttr aJUmrisk, 
gmUr BBAoroMT senior, BsAurMtr Junior, Mon- 
TAiova, Chamout, Lajtocb, BsMAaos, and Boldiari, 
•aitt MoiVTBsmxB, |>riMmer. 

Montr, Racks cannot force more from me than 
I have 
Already told you : I expect no fevonr ; 
I have cast op my acrompt. 

Beauf. ten. Take yon the charge 
Of the fort, Belgarde ; your dangers have de- 
serred it. 
Belg. I thank your excellenee : this will keep 
me safe yet 

From being pnlPd by the sleeve, and bid remember 
The thing I wot of. 

Beauf, jun. All that have eyes to weep, 
Spare one tear with me. Theocrine's dead. 

Mont, Her father too lies breathless here, I 
Struck dead with thunder. [think 

Cham, 'Tis apparent : how 
His carcass smells ! 

Lan, His face is alter'd to 
Another colour. 

Beauf. Jun. But here's one retains 
Her native innocence, that never yet 
Caird down heaven's anger. 

Beauf. sen, 'Tis in vain to mourn 
For what's past help. — We will refer, bad man. 
Your sentence to the king. May we make use of 
This great example, and learn from it, that 
There cannot be a want of power above. 
To punish murder, and unlawful love ! [JbniMl. 







Madam,— If I were not most anured that works of this natnrs haire found both patronage and protection amongst 
the greatest princeases of Italy, and are at this day cherished by p^'ttooM most eminent in our kingdom, I should not 
preanme to offer these my weak and imperfect labours at the altar of your faTour. Let the example of others, more 
knowing, and more experienced in this kindness (if my boldness ofRmd) plead my pardon, and the rather, since there 
Is no other means left me (my misfortunes having cast me on this course) to publish to the world (if it hold the least 
good opinion of me) that I am ever your ladyship's creature. Vouchsafe, therefore, with the never-failing clemency of 
your noble disposition, not to contenm tha tender of his duty, who, while he is, will ever be 

4n humble aenraat to your Ladyship, and jfonn. Puup MAsamoa. 


LuDovioo SmasA, supposed DtUte of Milan, 
FaANCisoo, his especial Favourite. 

Br^J^HAHO, } ^^ ^ **» ^'«"*« 
Graocho, a creature of MAEiAJfA. 
Juuo, ) _ 

GlOVANH,, f CO^^^^*' 

Charlks, Ou Emperor. 

PK9CARA , an Imperialist, but a Friend to SfOBlA. 

IllRMAWDO, "^ 

Mkdina, \CaptaiHs to the Emperor* 
Alfhoitso, j 
Three Gentlemen. 

^fi Officer. 
IN0O Dootora 
3\0O Clourlers. 

Mabcblia. the Dutchess, Wife to SroasA. 

IsABSLLA, Mother to Sporsa. 

Mariana, Wife to Francisco, and Sister to 


EiiesNiA, Sister to FaAMcnoo. 
A Gentlewoman. 

Guards, Servants, Attendanta. 

SCENE, — roa thr First and Sboomd Acts, in Milan; during part or the Tbdus 

iM TiiB Imprhial Camp nrar Pavia; tub rest or ths piat, 

IN Milan, and it* Nciohboorhood. 


SCENE I.— Milan. An outer Room in the 

Sml€r Graocho, Julio, and Giovanni, %oith Flaggons. 

Grac. Take every man his flaggoo : g:ive the 
To all you meet ; I am this day the state-drunkard, 
1 am sure against my will ; and if you find 
A man at ten that's sober, he's a traitor, 
And. in my name, arrest him. 

JuL Very good, sir : 
But. say he be a sexton ? 

Grac, If the bells 
Ring oat of tune, as if the street were bomiog, 
And he cry, ' Tit rare mueie i bid him sleep : 

"Tis a sign he has ta'eo his liquor; and if yen meet 
An officer preaching of sobriety, 
Unless he read it in Geneva print. 
Lay him by the heels. 

Jill. But think you 'tis a fault 
To be found sober ? 

Grac, It is capital treason : 
< )r, if you mitigate it, let such pay 
Forty crowns to the poor : but give a pension 
To all the magistrates you find singing catches. 
Or their wives dancing ; for the courtiers reeling, 
And the duke himself, I dare not say distemper'^ 
But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing, 
They do the country service. If you meet 
One that eats bread, a child of ignorance. 




And bred up in the darkness of no drinking, 
Against bis will you mny initiate him 
In tbe true posturt? ; though be die in the taking 
His drench, it skills not : what's a private m in, 
For the public honour ! We*ve nought el>e to 

think on. 
And so, dear friends, copartners in my travails. 
Drink hard ; and let tbe health mn through the city, 
Until it reel again, and with me cry, 
Long live the datchess ! 

SmUt TiJUOkio and Stiphano. 

Jul. Here are two lords ; — what think you ? 
Shall we give the oath to them ? 

Grae, Fie ! no : 1 know them, 
Yoa need not swear them ; your lord, by his 

Stands bound to take his rouse. Long live the 
dutchess ! IRxeunt Grac. Ji'l. awl Gio. 

Sieph. The cause of this ? but yesterday the 
Wore the sad liTery of distrust and fear ; 
No smile, not in a buffoon to be seen. 
Or common jester : the Great Duke himself 
Had sorrow in his fiure ! whitrb, waited on 
By his mother, sister, and his fairest dutchess. 
Dispersed a silent mourning through all Milan ; 
As if some great blow had been given the state, 
Or were at least expected. 

7^. Stephano, 
I know as you are noble, 3rou are honest. 
And capable of secrets of more weight 
Than now I shall deliver. If that Sforza, 
The present duke, (though his whole life hath 

But one continued pilgrimage through dangers. 
Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune, guided 
By lus strong judgment, still hath overcome,) 
Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder : 
All that his youth hath laboured for, the harvest 
Sown by his industry ready to be reap'd too. 
Being now at stake ; and all his hopes oonfirm'd, 
Or lost for ever. 

Steph, I know no such hazard : 
His guards are strong and sure, his coffers fiill ; 
The people well affected ; and so wisely 
His provident care hath wrought, that though war 

Ic most parts of our western world, there is 
No enemy near us. 

7^. Dangers, that we see 
To threaten ruin, are with ease prevented ; 
But those strike deadly; that come unexpected : 
Tbe lightning is far off, yet, soon as seen. 
We may behold the terrible effects 
That it produceth. But I'll help your knowledge, 
And make his cause of fear famiKar to you. 
The wars so long continued between 
The emperor Charles, and Francis the French king. 
Have interess'd, in cither's cause, the most 
Of the Italian princes ; among which, Sforza, 
As one of greatest power, was sought by both ; 
But with assurance, having one his friend. 
The other lived his enemy. 

Steph. 'Tis true : 
And 'twas a doubtful dbmce. 

Tib. But he, well knowing. 
And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride, 
Lent his assistance to the king of Prance : 
Which hath so fiur incensed the emperor. 

That all his hopes and honours are embark'd 
With his great patron's fortune. 

Steph. Which stands fair. 
For aught I yet can hear. 

Tib. But should it change. 
The duke's undone. They have drawn to the 

Two royal armies, full of fiery youth ; 
Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do : 
So near intrench'd, that 'tis beyond all hope 
Of human counsel they can e'er be severed. 
Until it be determined by the sword. 
Who hath tbe better cause : for the success. 
Concludes the victor innocent, and the vanquish'd 
Most miserably guilty. How uncertain 
The fortune of the war is, children know ; 
And, it being in suspen:>e, on whose fair tent 
I Wing'd Victory will make her glorious stand, 
You cannot blame the duke, though he appear 
Perplex'd and troubled. 

Steph. But why, then. 
In such a time, when every knee should bend 
For the success and safety of his person. 
Are these loud triumphs ! in my weak opinion, 
They are unseasonable. 

7tb. 1 judge so too ; 
But only in the cause to be excused. 
It is the dutchess' birthday, once a year 
Solemnixed with all pomp and ceremony ; 
In which the duke is not his own, but ber's i 
Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature, 
For never man so doated ; — but to tell 
The tenth part of his fondness to a strangeri 
Would argue me of fiction. 

Steph. She's, indeed, 
A lady of most exquisite form. 

Tib. She knows it. 
And how to prise it. 

Steph. I ne'er heard her tainted 
In anv point of honour. 

m On my life, 
She's constant to his bed, and well deserves 
His largest fovours. But, when beauty is 
Stamp'd on great women, great in birth and fortune^ 
And blown by flatterers greater than it is, 
'Tis seldom unaccompanied vrith pride i 
Nor is she that way free : presuming on 
The duke's affection, and her own desert, 
She bears herself with such a majesty. 
Looking with scorn on all as things beneath her. 
That Sforsa's mother, that would lose no part 
Of what was once her own, nor his f»ir sister, 
A lady too acquainted with her worth. 
Will brook it well ; and howsue'er their hate 
Is emother'd for a time, 'tis more than fear'd 
It will at length break out. 

Steph. He in whose power it ist 
Turn all to the best I 

Tib. Come, let us to the court ; 
We thera shall see all bravery and cost* 
That art can boast of. 

Steph. I'll bear you company. [J£rr<rL 

SCENE Ih— Another Room in the same. 

Enter Fmancisoo, laABSLLA, and BIaruma. 

^ari, I vrill not go ; I scorn to be a s]>ot 
In her proud train. 
/soft. Shall 1. that am his mother. 

mii&sB III. 



Be so indulgent, as to wait on her 
That owes me duty ? 

Fran, 'Tis done to the dake, 
And not to her : and, my sweet wife, remember, 
And, madam, if you please, receire my counsel. 
As Sfbrsa is your son, you may command him ; 
And, as a sister, you may challenge from him 
A brother's lore and favour : but, this granted, 
Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects, 
And not to question or contend with her 
Whom he is pleased to honour. Private men 
Prefer their wives ; and shall he, being a prince. 
And blest with one that is the paradise 
Of sweetness, and of beauty, to whose charge 
The stock of women's goodness is given up. 
Not use her like herself? 

lutb. You are ever forward 
To sing her praises. 

Mori, Others are as fiedr ; 
I am sure, as noble. 

Fran. I detract from none. 
In giving her what's due. Were she deform 'd, 
Yet being the dntchess, I stand bound to serve her ; 
But, as she is, to admire her. Never wife 
Met with a purer heat her husband's fervour ; 
A happy pair, one in the other blest 1 
She confident in herself he's wholly hers. 
And cannot seek for change ; and he secure. 
That 'tis not in the power of man to tempt her. 
And therefore to contest with her, that is 
The stronger and the better part of him, 
Is more than foUy : you know him of a nature 
Not to be played with ; and, should you forget 
To obey him as your prince, he'll not remember 
The duty that he owes you. 

Isab, Tis but truth : 
Come, clear our brows, and let us to the banquet ; 
But not to serve his idol. 

Mart, I shall do 
What may become the sister of a prinoa ; 
But will not stoop beneath it. 

Pran, Yet, be wise ; 
Soar not too high, to fall ; but stoop to rise. 


SCENE III.— ^ State Room in the tame. 
Enter three Gentlemen, setting forth a Banquet. 

1 Geni, Quick, quick, for love's sake 1 let the 
court put on 

Her choicest outside : cost and bravery 
Be only thought of. 

2 Gent. All that may be had 
To please the eye, the ear, taste, touch, or smell. 
Are carefully provided. 

I 3 Gent. There's a masque : 

Have you heard what's the invention ? 

1 Geni. No matter : 
It if intended for the dutchess' honour ; 
And if it give her glorious attributes. 
As the most fair, most virtuous, and the rest, 
"Twill please the duke. [Loud mutio.] They come. 
.3 Geni, All is in order. 

F»0mrith. Enter Ttasiuo, Stvphano, FRANcraco, SroazA, 
Marcbua. Iaabslxa, Mariana, and Attendants. 

S/or. You are the mistress of the feast — sit here, 
O my soul's comfort ! and when Sforza bows 
Thus low to do you honour, let none think 
The meanest service they can pay my love. 

But as a fair addition to those titles 
They stand possest of. Let me glory in 
My happiness, and mighty kings look pale 
With envy, while I triumph in mine own. 
O mother, look on her ! sister, admire her ! 
And, since this present age yields not a woman 
Worthy to be her second, borrow of 
Times past, and let imagination help. 
Of those canonixed ladies Sparta boasts of. 
And, in her greatness, Rome was proud to owe. 
To fashion one ; yet still yon must confess, 
The phoenix of perfection ne'er was seen, 
But in my fair Marcelia. 

Fran. She's, indeed, 
The wonder of all times. 

Tib. Your excellence. 
Though I confess, you give her but her own. 
Forces her modesty to Uie defence 
Of a sweet blush. 

S/or. It need not, my Marcelia ; 
When most 1 strive to praise thee, I appear 
A poor detractor : for U&on art, indeed. 
So absolute in body and in mind. 
That, but to speak the least part to the height. 
Would ask an angel's tongue, and yet then end 
In silent admiration ! 

Isab. You still court her. 
As if she were a mistress, not your wife. 

S/or. A mistress, mother ! she is more to me. 
And every day deserves more to be sued to. 
Such as are cloy'd with those they have embraced, 
May think their wooing done : no night to me 
But is a bridal one, where Hymen lights 
His torches fresh and new ; and those delights, 
Which are not to be clothed in airy sounds, 
Enjoy'd, beget desires as full of heat, 
And jovial fervour, as when first I tasted 
Her virgin fruit. — Blest night ! and be it number'd 
Amongst those happy ones, in which a blessing 
Was, by the full consent of all the stars, 
Conferr'd upon mankind. 

Marc. My worthiest lord ! 
The only object 1 behold with pleasure, — 
My pride, my glory, in a word, my all I 
Bear witness, heaven, that I esteem myself 
In nothing worthy of the meanest praise 
You can bestow, unless it be in this. 
That in my heart I love and honour you. 
And, but that it would smell of arrogance. 
To speak my strong desire and zeal to serve jo% 
1 then could say, these eyes yet never saw 
The rising sun, but that my vows and prayers 
Were sent to heaven for the prosperity 
And safety of my lord : nor have I ever 
Had other study, but how to appear 
Worthy your favour ; and that my embraces 
Might yield a fruitful harvest of content 
For all your noble travail, in the purchase 
Of her that's still your servant : By these lipt. 
Which, pardon me, that I presume to kiss— 

S/or. O swear, for ever swear ! 

Marc. I ne'er will seek 
Delight but in your pleasure : and desire, 
When you are sated with all earthly glories. 
And age and honours make you fit for heaveo. 
That one grave may receive us. 

S/or. 'Tis believed, 
Believed, my blest one. 

Mart. How she winds herself 
Into his soul 1 . o 




SfofT, Sit alL — Let others feed 
On those gross cates, while Sfona banquets with 
Immortal Tiands ta'en in at his eyes. 
I could live ever thus. ~ Command the eunuch 
To sing the ditty that I last composed, 

JSMcr c CSouriar. 
In praise of my Marcelia. From whence P 

Cour. From Pavia, my dread lord. 

Sfwr. Speak, is all lost ? 

Cour. [Deiicers a leiter,'\,Tht letter will inform' 
you. l&tU, 

Fran. How his hand shakes, 
As he receives it ! 

Mart. This is some allay 
To his hot passion. 

SIfwr. Though it bring death, I'll read tt : 

May it plean yonr ezoellenoe to nndentand. that the 
ymrj boor I wrote thu, I heard a bold defiance delivered 
hj a harald from the emperor, which was cheerfully 
lecelTed by the king of Franoe. The battailes being 
ready to Join, and the Tanguard committed to my charKo* 
cnforoea me to end abruptly. 

Tour HighneMfli hnmUe serrant, 


JUady to Join ! — ^By this, then, I am nothing. 
Or my estate secure. lAtide. 

Mare. My lord. 

Sfor. To doubt, 
Is worse than to have lost ; and to despair. 
Is but to antedate those miseries 
That must fall on us ; all my hopes depending 
Upon this battle's fortune. In my soul, 
Methinks, there should be that imperious power 
Bt supemataral, not usual means, 
Tr inform me what I am. The cause considerM, 
Why should I fear? The French are bold and 

Tlieir numbers full, and in their councils' wise ; 
But then, the haughty Spaniard is all fire. 
Hot in his executions ; fortunate 
In his attempts ; married to victory :-— 
Ay, there it is that shakes me. {Atide. 

Fran. Excellent lady. 
This day was dedicated to your honour ; 
One gale of your sweet breath will easily 
Disperse these clouds ; and, but yourself, there's 
That dare speak to him. [none 

Mare. I will run the hazard. — 
My lord ! 

Sfor. Ha ! — pardon me, Marcelia, I am troubled ; 
And stand uncertain, whether I am master 
Of aught that's worth the owning. 

Mare. I am yours, sir ; 
And I have heard you swear, I being safe, 
Tliere was no loss could move you. This day, sir. 
Is by your gift made mine. Can you revoke 
A grant made to Marcelia ? your Marcelia? — 
For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir. 
All deep designs, and state-affairs deferr'd. 
Be, as you purposed, merry. 

Sfor. Out of ray sight ! iThrow away the Letter. 
And all thoughts that may strangle mirth forsake 
Fall what can fall, I dare the worst of fate : [me. 
Though the foundation of the earth should shrink. 
The glorious eye of heaven lose his splendour. 
Supported thus, I'll stand upon the ruins. 
And seek for new life here. Why are you sad ? 
No other sports 1 by heaven, he's not my friend, 
That wears one furrow in his &ce. I was told 
There was i maaqne. 

Fran. They wait your highness' pleasure. 
And when you please to have it. 

S/or. Bid them enter : 
Come, make me happy once again. 1 am rapt — 
'Tis not to-day, to-morrow, or the next. 
But all my days, and years, shall be employ'd 
To do thee honour. 

Mare, And my life to serve you. 

iA Horn vitlumL 

Sfor. Anotner post ! Go hang him. hang him, I 
I will not interrupt my present pleasures, [say ; 
Although his message should import my head : 
Hang him, I say. 

Mare. Nay, good sir, I am pleased 
To grant a little intermission to you ; 
Who knows but he brings news we wish to hear» 
To heighten our delights. 

Sfor, As wise as fair ! 

Enter another Ckmrier. 
From Gaspero f 

Cour. That was, my lord. 

Sfor. How ! dead ? 

Cour. [Delivers a Letter."] With the delivery 
of this, and prayers, 
To. guard your excellency from certain dangers. 
He ceased to be a man. l/ixit, 

Sfor. All that my fears 
Could fashion to me, or my enemies wish. 
Is fallen upon me. — Silence that hartth music ; 
'Tis now unseasonable : a tolling bell. 
As a sad harbinger to tell me, that 
This pamper'd lump of flesh must feast the worms, 
Is fitter for roe r — 1 am sick. 

Marc. My lord ! 

Sfor. Sick to the death, Marcelia. Remove 
These signs of mirth ; they were ominous, and out 
Sorrow and ruin. [ushei'd 

Marc. Bless us, heaven ! 

Isab, My son. 

Mare. What sudden change is this ? 

Sfor. All leave the room ; 
I'll bear alone the burden of my grief. 
And must admit no {Nirtner. 1 am yet 
Your prince, where's your obecUence ? — Stay, 
I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow, [Marcelia ; 
In which you must not share. 

lExeunt Tiiutitro, Sx^f^itivo. PaAirasco, laABKUJi, 
MAatAifA, and Attendants. 

Mare. And cheerfully 
I will sustain my part. Why look you pale ? 
Where is that wonted constancy and courage 
That dared the worst of fortune ? where is Sforza, 
To whom all dangers that fright common meu, 
Appear'd but panic terrors ? why do you eye me 
With such fix'd looks ? Love, counsel, duty, ser- 
May flow from me, not danger. [vice, 

^or. O, Marcelia 1 
It is for thee I fear ; for thee, thy Sforza 
Shakes like a coward : for myself, unmoved, 
I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces, 
My general slain, and he, on whom my Iiojk's 
Of rule, of state, of life, had their depend-^uoe, 
The king of France, my greatest friend, made pri- 
To so proud enemies. [vunei 

Mare. Then you have just cause 
To shew yon are a man. 

Sfor. All this were nothing, 
Though I add to it, that I am assure*!. 
For giving aid to this Unfortunate kin^. 
The emperor, inoens'd, lays his command 

On hi« Tictorioiu army, flesh 'd with spoil, 
A.nd bold of conquest, to inarch up against me, 
And seize on my estates ; suppose that done too, 
The city ta'en, the kennels running blood. 
The ransack'd temples falling on their saints ; 
My mother, in my sight, toss'd on their pikes, 
And sister ravish'd ; and myself bound fist 
In dudns, to grace their triumph ; or what else 
An enemy's insolence could load me with, 
1 would be Sforza still. But, when I think 
That my Marcelia, to whom all these 
Are bat as atoms to the greatest hill. 
Most suffer in my cause, and for me suffer ! 
All earthly torments, nay, even those the damn'd 
Howl for in hell, are gentle strokes, compared 
To what 1 feel, Marcelia. 

Mare. Good sir, have patience : 
I can as well partake your adverse fortune, 
As I thus long have had an ample share 
In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power 
Of fate to alter me ; for while I am. 
In spite of it, I'm yours. 

S/or. But should that will 
To be so . . . forced, Marcelia : and I live 
To see those eyes I prize above ray own. 
Dart finvours, though compell'd, upon another ; 
( )r those sweet lips yielding immortal nectar. 
Be gently touch'd by any but myself; 
Think, think, Marcelia, what a cursed thing 
I were, beyond expression 1 

Ataro. Do not feed 
rhose jealous thoughts ; the only blessing that 
Heaven hath bestow 'd on us, more than on beasts, 
Is, that 'tis in our pleasure when to die. 
Besides, were I now in another's power, 
There are so many ways to let out life, 
1 would not live, for one short minute, his ; 
1 was bom only yours, and 1 will die so. 

S/or. Angels reward the goodness of this 
woman ! 

Enter FnAHcnco. 
AH I can pay is nothing. — Why, uncall'd for ? 

Fran. It is of weight, sir, that makes me thus 
Upon your privacies. Your constant friend, 
The Marquis of Pescara, tired with haste, 
Hath business that concerns your life and fortunes. 
And with speed to impart. 

S/or. Wait on him hither. IBxU FRAJtaaoo. 

And, dearest, to thy closet. Let thy prayers 
Assist my councils. 

Mare, To spare imprecations 
Against myself, without you I am nothing. [ICrtt. 

S/or. The marquis of Pescara 1 a great soldier ; 
And, though he serv'd upon the adverse party. 
Ever my constant friend. 

JU^cnlcr FftAmaaoo wUk PaacARA. 

Fran. Yonder he walks. 
Fall of sad thoughts. 

Fooe. Blame him not, good Francisco, 
He hath much cause to grieve ; would 1 might end 
And not add this, — to fear 1 [so, 

Sifor. My dear Pescara ; 
A miracle in these times ! a friend, and happy, 
Cleaves to a falling fortune 1 

Fa$e. If it were 
As well in my weak power, in act, to raise H, 
As 'tis to bear a part of sorrow with you, 
Yoa tJien should have jost cause to say, Peiaum 

Look'd not upon your state, but on your virtues. 
When he made suit to be writ in the list 

Of those you favoured. But my haste forbids 

All compUment ; thus, then, sir, to the purpose : 
The cause that, unattended, brought me hither 
Was not to tell you of your loss, or danger ; 
For fame hath many wings to bring ill tidings. 
And 1 presume you've heard it ; but to give you 
Such friendly counsel, as, perhaps, may make 
Your sad disaster less. 

iSj/or. You are all goodness ; 
And I give up myself to be disposed of. 
As in your wisdom you think fit. 

Peso. Thus, then, sir : 
To hope you can hold out against the emperor, 
Were flattery in yourself, to your undoing ; 
Therefore, the safest course that you can take. 
Is, to give up yourself to his discretion. 
Before you be compell'd ; for, rest assured, 
A voluntary yielding may find grace. 
And will admit defence, at least, excuse : 
But, should you linger doubtful, till his powers 
Have seized your person and estates perforce. 
You must expect extremes. 

S/or. I understand you ; 
And I will put your counsel into act. 
And speedily. I only will take order 
For some domestical affairs, that do 
Concern me nearly, and with the next sun 
Ride with you : in the mean time, my best frien 
Pray take your rest. 

Pesc. Indeed, I have travell'd hard ; 
And will embrace your counsel. iSxtL 

S/or. With all care, 
Attend my noble friend. Stay you, Francisco. 
You see how things stand with me ? 

Fran. To my grief: 
And if the loss of my poor life could be 
A sacrifice to restore them as they were, 
I willingly would lay it down. 

S/or. I think so ; 
For I have ever found yon true and thankful, 
Which makes me love the building I have raised 
In your advancement : and repent no grace 
I have conferr'd upon you. And, believe me. 
Though now I should repeat my favours to you. 
The titles I have given you, and the means 
Suitable to your honours ; that I thought you 
Worthy my sister and my family. 
And in my dukedom made you next myself; 
It is not to upbraid you ; but to tell you 
I find you are worthy of them, in your love 
And service to me. 

Fran. Sir, I am your creature ; 
And any 8ha|)e, that you would have me wear, 
I gladly will put on. 

S/or. Thus, then, Francisco : 
I now am to deliver to your trust 
A weighty secret ; of so strange a nature. 
And 'twill, I know, appear, so monstrous to yoa. 
That you will tremble in the execution. 
As much as I am tortured to command it : 
For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, but to hear it. 
Would strike into a ruffian flesh'd in murders, 
Or an obdurate hangman, soft compassion ; 
And yet, Francisco, of all men the dearest. 
And from me most deserving, such my state 
And strange condition is, that thou alone 
Must know the fatal service, and perform it. 

Fran, These preparations, sir, to work a stranger. 




Or to one unaoquAinted with yoor bounties, 
Might appear useful ; but to me they are 
Needless impertinencies : for I dare do 
Whatever you dare command. 

Sfor. But you must swear it ; 
And put into the oath all joys or torments 
That fright the wicked or confirm the good ; 
Not to conceal it only, that is nothing, 
But, whensoe*er my will shall speak, Strike now ! 
To fall upon't like thunder. 

Fran, Minister 
The oath in any way or form you please, 
I stand resolved to take it. 

Sfor, Thou must do, then, 
"What no malerolent star will dare to look on. 
It b so wicked : for which men will curse thee 
For being the instrument ; and the blest angels 
Forsake me at my need, for being the author : 
For 'tis a deed of night, of night, Frandsoo ! 
In which the memory of all good actions 
We can pretend to, shall be buried quick : 
Or, if we be remember*d, it shall be 
To fright posterity by our example. 
That have outgone aU precedents of villains 
That were before us ; and such as succeed, 
Though taught in hell's black school, shall ne'er 

come near us. — 
Art thou not shaken yet? 

Fran, I grant you move me i 
But to a man confirm*d^— i- 

Slfor, I'll try your temper : 
What think you of my wife ? 

Fran, As a thing sacred ; 
To whose feir name and memory I pay gladly 
These signs of duty. 

Sfor, Is she not the abstract 
Of all that's rare, or to be wiah'd in woman ? 

Fran, It were a kind of blasphemy to dispute it : 
But to the purpose, sir. 

Sfor. Add too, her goodness. 
Her tenderness of me, her care to please me. 
Her unsuspected chastity, ne'er equall'd ; 
Her innocence, her honour : — O, I am lost 
In the ocean of her virtues and her graces. 
When I think of them! 

Fran, Now I find the end 
Of all your colourations : there's some service 
To be done for this sweet lady. If she have ene- 
That she would have removed [mies, 

Sfor, Alas ! Francisco, 
Her greatest enemy is her greatest lover ; 

Yet, in that hatred, her idolater. 
One smile of her's would make a savage tame ; 
One accent of that tongue would calm the seas. 
Though all the wiuds at once strove there for em- 
Yet I, for whom she thinks all this too little, [pire. 
Should I miscarry in this present journey, 
From whence it is all number to a cipher, 
I ne'er return with honour, by thy hand 
Must have her murder'd. 

Fran. Murder'd !— She that loves so, 
And so deserves to be belov'd again ! 
And I, who sometimes yon were pleased to fiiTOvry 
Pick'd out the instrument ! 

^or. Do not fly off : 
What is decreed can never be recall'd ; 
'Tis more than love to her, that marks her out 
A wish'd companion to me in both fortunes : 
And strong assurance of thy xealons faith, 
That gives up to thy trust a secret, that 
Racks should not have forced from me. O, 

There is no heaven without her ; nor a hell. 
Where she resides. I ask from her but justice. 
And what I would have paid to her, had sickuMSy 
Or any other accident, divorced 
Her purer soul from her unspotted body. 
The slavish Indian princes, when they die, 
Are cheerfully attended to the fire. 
By the wife and slave that, living, they loved hmLf 
To do them serrice in another world : 
Nor will I be less honour'd, that love more. 
And therefore trifle not, but, in thy looks. 
Express a ready purpose to perform 
What I command ; or, by Marcelia's soul, 
This is thy latest minute. 

Fratt, 'Tis not fear 
Of death, but love to yon, makes me embrace it ; 
But for mine own security, when 'tis done, 
W^hat warrant have I ? If you please to sign one, 
I shall, though with unwillingness and horror. 
Perform your dreadful charge. 

Sfor. I will, Francisco : 
But still remember, that a prince's secrets 
Are balm cooceal'd ; but poison, if discover'd. 
I may come back ; then this is but a trial 
To purchase thee, if it were possible, 
A nearer place in my affection : — but ' 
I know thee honest. 

Fran. 'Tis a character 
I will not part with. 

^or, I may live to reward it lExeumt, 


SCENE J^^The same. An open gpace before 

the Cattle, 

AUcr TiBBBio asul SrspHAiia 

Sieph. How ! left the court P 

T*ib, Without guard or retinue 
Rtting a prince. 

Sieph. No enemy near, to force him 
To leave his own strengths, ytt deliver up 
Himsdf, as 'twere, in bonds, to the discretioii 
Of him that hates him I 'tis beyond example. 
You never heard the motives that induced liini 
To this stnuige eoorae ? 

7^. No, those are cabinet councils. 
And not to be communicated, but 
To such as are his own, and sure. Alas 
We fill up empty places, and in public 
Are taught to give our suifirages to that 
Which was before determined ; and are safe so. 
Signior Francisco (upon whom alone 
His absolute power is, with all strength, oon« 

During his absence) can with ease resolve yon : 
To me they are riddles. 

Siepk. Well, he shall not be 
MyCEdipns; I'll rather dwell in darkiM 

«G19fB I. 



But, mj good lord Tiberio, this Francisco 
Is, on the sadden, strangely raised. 

Tib. O sir, 
He took the thriving course : he had a sister, 
A. fiur one too, with whom, as it is rumourM, 
The duke was too familiar ; but she, cast off, 
(What promises soever past between them,) 
Upon the sight of*this, forsook the court, 
A.ud since was ne?er seen. To smother this, 
As honours never fail to purchase silence, 
Vnadaeo first was graced, and, step by step. 
Is raised up to this height. 

SUph. But how is 
His absence bom ? 

7^. Sadly, it seems, by the dutchess ; 
For since he left the court, 
For the most part she hath kept her private cham- 
No visitants admitted. In the church, [ber, 

She hath been seen to pay her pure devotions, 
Season'd with tears ; and sure her sorrow's true, 
Or deeply counterfeited ; pomp, and state, 
And bravery cast off : and she, that lately 
RivalFd Poppca in her varied shapes. 
Or the Egyptian queen, now, widow-like, 
In sable colours, as her husband's dangers 
Strangled in her the use of any pleasure, 
Mourns for his absence. 

Stepk. It becomes her virtue, 
And does confirm what was reported of her. 

7^. You take it right : but, on the other side, 
Hie darling of his moUier, Mariana, 
As there were an antipathy between 
Her and the dutchess passions ; and as 
She'd no dependence on her brother's fortune, 
She ne'er appear'd so full of nurth. 

Sieph. 'Tis strange. 

BiUtr Gbaooio witX Fiddlers. 

But see ! her favourite, and accompanied. 
To your report. 

Grae, You shall scrape, and I will sing 
A scurvy ditty to a scurvy tune. 
Repine who dares. 

1 Fid. But if we should offiend, 
The dutchess having silenced us;— and these lords, 
Sund by to hear us. — 

Grae. They in name are lords. 
But I am one in power : and, for the dutchess. 
But yesterday we were merry for her pleasure, 
We now'U be for my lady's. 

T^. Signior Graccho. 

GrmD, A poor man, sir, a servant to the princess ; 
But you, great lords and counsellors of state, 
l\liom 1 stand bound to reverence. 

7^. Come ; we know 
You are a man in grace. 

Grae. Fie ! no : I grant, 
I bear my fortunes patiently ; serve the princess, 
And have access at all times to her closet, 
Sbch is my impudence ! when your grave lordships 
Arc r^iaaXa% of the modesty to attend 
Three boura, nay sometimes four ; and then bid wait 
Upon her the next morning. 

SUpk. He derides us. 

Tib. Pray you, what news is stirring ? you 
know all. 

Grae. Who, I ? alas ! I've no intelligence 
At hom« nor abroad ; I only sometimes guess 
The chann of the times : I should ask of your 

Who are to keep their honoun, who to lose them ; 
Who the dutchess smiled on last, or on whom 

frown d, 
You only can resolve me ; we poor waitera 
Deal, as you see, in mirth, and foolish fiddles : 
It is our element ; and — could you tell me 
What point of state 'tis that I am commanded 
To muster up this mu^ic, on mine honesty. 
You should much befriend me. 

Steph. Sirrah, you grow saucy. 

Tib. And would be laid by the heels. 

Grae. Not by your lordships, 
Without a special warrant ; look to your own 

stakes ; 
Were I committed, here come those would bail me: 
Perhaps, we might cliange places too. 

ErUer }Mhmu.A4ind Mariaita ; Oraocbo whispers tks 


Tib. The princess ! 
We must be patient. 

Steph. There is no contending. 

Tib. See, the informing rogue ! 

Steph. That we should stoop 
To such a mushroom ! 

Mari. Thou dost mistake : thev durat not 
Use the least word of scorn, although provoked, 
To anything of mine. — Go, get you home. 
And to your servants, friendsi and flatteren, num- 
How many descents you're noble ; — ^look to yooi 

wives too; 
The smooth-chinn'd courtiera are abroad. 

Tib. No way to be a freeman ! 

ISxeuni Tnucaro and BmmAm. 

Grae. Your Excellence hath the best gift to dis- 
These arras pictures of nobility. 
I ever read of. 

Mari. I can speak sometimes. 

Grae. And cover so your bitter pills with sweet- 
Of princely language to forbid reply, [ness 

They are greedily swallow'd. 

Isab. But the purpose, daughter. 
That brings us hither .' Is it to bestow 
A visit on this woman, that, because 
She only would be thought truly to grieve 
Tlie absence and the dangen of my son. 
Proclaims a general sadness ? 

Mari. If to vex her 
May be interpreted to do her honour, 
She shall have many of them. I'll make use 
Of my short reign : my lord now governs all; 
And she shall know that her idolater. 
My brother, being not by now to protect herr 
I am her equaL 

Grcui. Of a little thing, 
It is so full of gall 1 A devil of this size. 
Should they run for a wager to be spiteful, 
Gete not a horse-head of her. {AsiUt 

Mari, On her birthday, 
We were forced to be merry, and now she's musty, 
We must be sad, on pain of her displeasure : 
We win, we will ! this is her private chamber, 
Where, like an hypocrite, not a true turtle. 
She seems to mourn her absent mate; ber servants 
Attending her like mutes : but I'll speak to her. 
And in a high key too. — Play anythmg 
That's light and loud enough but to torment her, 
And w^ will have rare sport. iMusie and a song 



Aor n. 

Marcsua approTi «l m Windate above, in Miek. 

iMob. She frowns as if 
Her looks could fnglit us. 

Maru May it please yonr greatness. 
We heard that yonr late physic bath not work'd ; 
And that breeds melancbply, as yonr doctor tells 

ns : 
To pnrge which, we, that are bom year highness' 

And are to play the fool to do yon service, 
Present you with a fit of mirth. What think yon 
Of a new antic ? 

Isnb. 'Twonld shew rare in ladies. 

Mart. Being intended for so sweet a creature, 
Were she but pleased to grace it. 

Isab. Fie ! she will, 
Be it ne'er so mean ; she's made of courtesy. 

Mart. The mistress of all hearts. One smile, I 
pray you. 
On your poor servants, or a fiddler's fee ; 
Coming from those fidr hands, though bnt a ducat, 
We will enshrine it as a holy relic 

I§ab. *Tu wormwood, and it works. 

Mare. If I lay by 
My fears and griefs, in which you should be sharers, 
If doting age could let you but remember 
Yon have a son ; or frontless impudence, 
You are a sister ; and, in making answer 
To what was most unfit for you lo speak, 
Or me to hear, borrow of my just anger 

Isab. A set speech, on my life. 

Mart. Penn'd by her chaplain. 

Mare. Yes, it can speak, without instruction 
speak, 4f 

And tell your want of manners, that you are rude, 
And sanctly rude, too. 

Grae. Now the game begins. 

Mare. You durst not, else, on any hire or hope, 
Remembering what I am, and whose I am, 
Put on the -desperate boldness, to disturb 
The least of my retirements. 

Mart. Note her, now. 

Mare. For both shaU understand, though the 
one presume 
Upon the privilege due to a mother. 
The duke stands now on his own Iqp, and needs 
No nurse to lead him. 

Ixab. How, a nurse 1 

Mare. A dry one. 
And useless too :^-but I am merdM, 
And dotage signs your pardon. 

Isab. I defy thee ; 
Thee, and thy pardons, proud one 1 

Mare, For yon, puppet— 

Mori. What of me, pine-tree ? 

Mare. Little you are, I grant. 
And have as little worth, but much less wit ; 
You durst not else, the duke being wholly mine, 
His power and honour mine, and the all^janee. 
You owe him, as a subject, due to me 

Mart. To yon? 

Mare. To me : and therefore, as i vassal. 
From this hour learn to serve me, or you'll fed 
I must make use of my authority, 
And, as a princess, punish it. 

Isab. A princess ! 

Maru I had rather be a slave unto i Moor, 
Than know thee for my etpaL 

Isab* Soomful thing 1 
Piroad of a white fiwe. 

Mart. Let her but remember 
The i»8ue in her leg. 

Isab. The charge s'le puts 
The state to, for perfumes. 

Mart. And howsoe'er 
She seems when she's made up, as she's herself. 
She stinlu above the ground. O that I could 

reach you 1 
The little one you scorn so, with her nails 
Would tear your painted face, and scratch those 
Do but come down. [eyes out. 

Marc. Were there no other way. 
But leaping on thy neck, to break mine own. 
Rather ihau be outbraved Uius. iSht retires 

G ae. Forty ducats 
U)K)n the little hen ; she's of the kind, 
And will not leave the pit. [^Asids. 

Mari. That it were lawful 
To meet her with a poniard and a pistol 1 
But these weak hands shall shew my spleeiw- 

Re-enter Matkija below. 
Mare. Where are you. 
You modicum, you dwarf! 
Mari. Here, giantess, here. 

Bntsr FtUMatco, Tmaaio, 8TBPa4iio, and Guafds. 

Fran, A tumult in the court 1 

Maru Let her come on. 

Fran. What wind hath raised this tempest ? 
Sever them, I command you. What's the cause? 
Speak, Mariana. 

Maru I am out of breath ; 
But we shall meet, we shall. — And do you hear, sir 
Or right me on this monster, (she's three feet 
Too high for a woman,) or ne'er look to have 
A quiet hour with me. 

Isab, If my son were here. 
And would endure this, may a mother's curse 
Pursue and overtake him ! 

Fran. O forbear ; 
In me he's present, both in power and will ; 
And, madam, I much grieve that in his absence. 
There should arise the least distaste to move yon ; 
It being his principal, nay, only charge, 
To have you, in his absence, served and honour'd. 
As when himself perform'd the willing office. 

Mari. This is fine, i'faith. 

Grae, I would I were well off ! 

Fran, And therefore, I beseech you, madam, 
frown not. 
Till most unwittingly he hath deserved it. 
On your poor servant ; to your ezcellenee 
I ever was and will be such ; and lay 
The duke's authority, trusted to me, 
With vrillingness at your feet. 

Mari, O base ! 

Isab. We are like 
To have an equal judge 1 

Fran, But, should I find 
That yon are touch'd in any point of honour, 
Or that the least neglect is fall'n upon yoii« 
I then stand up a prince. 

1 Fid. Without reward. 
Pray you dismiss us. 

Grae, Would I were five leagues henoe t 

Fran, I will be partial 
To none, not to mvself ; 
Be you but pleased to shew me my offenee. 
Or if you hold me in your good opinion. 
Name those that have offei^ed you. 

laab. I am one, 
Aod 1 will justify it. 

Mart. Thou art a base fellow, 
To take her part 

Fran, Remember, she's the dutchess. 

Marc Bot used with more contempt, than if I 
A peasant's daughter ; baited, and hooted at, 
Like to a common strumpet ; with loud noises 
Forced from my prayers ; and my private chamber, 
Which with all willingness I would make my pri- 
During the absence of my lord, denied me : [son 
Bat if he e'er return — 

Fran. Were you an actor 
In this lewd comedy ? 

Mart, Ay, marry was I ; 
And will be one again. 

I sab, ril join with her, 
Though you repine at it. 

Fran, Think not, then, I speak, 
For I stand bound to honour, and to senre you ; 
But that the duke, that lives in this great lady, 
For the contempt of him in her, commands jou 
To be close prisoners. 

Itah, Mart. Prisoners! 

Fran. Bear them hence ; 
This \* your charge, my lord Tiberio, 
And, Stephano, this ii yours. 

Marc. I am not cruel, 
But pleased they may have liberty. 

hnb. Pleased, with a mischief ! 

Mart, ni rather live in any loathsome dungeoui 
Than ill a paradise at her entreaty ; 
And. f(»r you, upstart 

Sieph. There is no contending. 

Tib. What shall become of these ? 

Fran, See them well whipp'd. 
As you will answer it. 

Tib. Now, signior Graccho, 
What think you of your greatness ? 

Grac. 1 preach patience. 
And must endure my fortune. 

1 Fid. I was never yet 
At such a hunt's-up, nor was so rewarded. 

\^Exeunt all but Fiuncisc» atut Mahciua. 

Fran, Let them first know themselves, and how 
you are 
To be served and honoured ; which, when they con- 

You may again receive them to your favour : 
And then it wiU shew nobly. 

Marc. With my thanks 
The duke shall pay you his, if he return 
To bless us with his presence. 

Fran. There is nothing 
That can be added to your fair acceptance ; 
That is the priie, indeed ; all else are blanks, 
And of no value. As, in virtuous actions. 
The undertaker finds a full reward, 
Although conferr'd upon unthankful men ; 
So, any service done to so much sweetness, 
However dangerous, and subject to 
An ill construction, in your favour finds 
A wish'd, and glorious end. 

Marc. From yon, I take this 
As loyal duty ; but, in any other, 
It would appear gross flattery. 

Fran. Flattery, madam ! 
You mn so rare and eicellent in all things. 
And raised so high upon a rock of goodness, 

As thnt vice cannot reach you ; w\m but looks on 
This temple, built by nature to perfection, 
But must bow to it ; and out of that zeal, 
Not only learn to adore it, but to love it ? 

Maro. Whither will this fellow ? lAiid€, 

Fran. Pardon, therefore, madam, 
If an excess in me of bumble duty. 
Teach me to hope, and though it be not in 
The power of man to merit such a blessing, 
My piety, for it is more than love, 
May find reward. 

Marc* You have it in my thanks ; 
And, on my hand, I am pleased that you shall take 
A full possession of it : but, take heed 
That yon fix here, and feed no hope beyond it ; 
If you do, it will prove fatal. 

Fran. Be it death. 
And death with torments tyrants ne'er found out, 
Yet I must say, I love yon. 

Maro. As a subject ; 
And 'twill become you. 

Fran, Farewell, circumstance ! 
And since you are not pleased to understand me. 
But by a plain and useful form of speech : 
All superstitious reverence laid by, 
I love you as a man, and, as a man, 
I would enjoy you. Why do you stairt, and fl j me ? 
I am no monster, and you but a woman, 
A woman made to yield, and by example 
Told it is lawful : favours of this nature, 
Are, in our age, no miracles in the greatest ; 
And, therefore, lady 

Marc. Keep off! — O you Powers ! 

Libidinous beast ! and, add to that, unthankful ! 
A crime, which creatures wanting reason, fly from. 
Are all the princely bounties, favours, honours. 
Which, with some prejudice to his own wisdom. 
Thy lord and raiser hath conferr'd upon thee, 
In three days absence buried ? Hath he made thee, 
A thing obscure, almost without a name. 
The envy of great fortunes ? Have I graced thee, 
Beyond thy rank, and entertained thee, as 
A friend, and not a servant ? and is this. 
This impudent attempt to taint mine honour. 
The fair return of both our ventured favours 1 

Fran. Hear my excuse. 

Maro, The devil may plead mercy. 
And with as much assurance, as thou yield one* 
Burns lust so hot in thee ? or is thy pride 
Grown up to such a height, that but a princess, 
No woman can content thee ; and, add to it. 
His wife and princess, to whom thou art tied 
In all the bonds of duty ? — Read my life. 
And find one act of mine so loosely carried. 
That could invite a most self-loving fool, 
Set off with all that fortune could throw on him, 
To the least hope to find way to my favour ; 
And, what's the worst mine enemies could wish me, 
I'll be thy strumpet. 

Fran, 'Tis acknowledged, madam. 
That your whole course of life hath been a pattern 
For chaste and virtuous women. In your t)eauty, 
Which I first saw, and loved, as a fair crystal, 
I read your heavenly mind, clear and untainted ; 
And while the duke did prize you to your value, 
Could it have been in man to pay that duty, 
I well might envy him, but durst not hope 
To stop you in your full career of goodness : 
But now I find that he's fall'n from his fortune. 
And, howsoever he would appear doting, 




GrowD cold in hU affection ; I presume. 
From his most barbarous neglect of jfm. 
To offer my true service. Nor stand I boand^ 
To li)ok back on the courtesies of him. 
That, of all living men, is most unthankfuL 

Marc. Unheard-of impudence! 

Fran, You'll say I am modest, 
When I hare told the story. Can he tax me, 
That have received some worldly trifles from him, 
For being ungrateful ; when he, that first tasted. 
And hath so long enjoy'd, your sweet embraces. 
In which all blessings that our frail condition 
Is capable of, are wholly comprehended. 
As cloy'd with happiness, contemns the giver 
Of his felicity ; and, as he reach*d not 
The masterpiece of miscbief which he aims at, 
Unless he pay those favours he stands bound to. 
With fell and deadly hate ! You think he loves you 
With unexampled ferrour ; najy dotes on you, 
As there were something in you more than woman : 
When, on my knowledge, he long since hath wish'd 
You were among the dead ; — and I, you scorn so. 
Perhaps, am your preserver. 

Marc. Bless me, good angels, 
Or I am blasted ! lies so false and wicked. 
And £uhion*d to so damnable a purpose, 
Cannot be spoken by a human tongue. 
My husband hate me ! give thyself the lie, 
False and accurs'd ! Thj soul, if thou hast any, 
Can witness, never lady stood so bound 
To the unfeign'd affection of her lord, 
As I do to my Sforza. If thou wouldst work 
Upon my wnk credulity, tell me, rather. 
That the earth moves ; the sun and stars stand still ; 
The ocean keeps nor floods nor ebbe ; or that 
There's peace between the lion and the lamb ; 
Or that the ravenous eagle and the dove 
Keep in one aerie, and bring up their young ; 
Or anything thM is averse to nature : 
And I will sooner credit it, than that 
My lord can think of me, but as a jewel. 
He loves more than himself, and all the world. 

Fran. O innocence abused ! simplicity cozen'd ! 
It were a sin, for which we have no name, 
To keep you longer in this wilful error. 
Read his affection here ; — [Give* her a paper.] — 

and then observe 
How dear he holds you ! 'Tis his character. 
Which cunning yet could never counterfeit. 

Marc 'Tis his hand, Tm resolved of it. I'll try 
What the inscription is. 

Ft an. Pray you do so. 

Mare, [iteodf .] You know my pleasure, and the hour 
of MarceUa'B death, which Call not to execute, as you will 
«nswer the contrary, not with your head alone, hut with 
the ruin of your whole family. And this, written with 
mine own hand, and signed with my privy aignei, shall 
be your aulBcient warrant. 

Looovioo Svoaaa. 

I do obey it ! every word's a poniard, 

And reaches to my heart. [,8woon$. 

From. What have I done ? 
Mmdam 1 lor heaven's take, madam 1 — O my &te 1 

I'll bend her body : this is yet some pleasure : 

ril kiss her into a new life. Dear lady ! — 

She stirs. For the duke's sake, for Sforza's sake — 

Mare. Sforza's ! stand off ; though dead, I will 
be his, 
And even my ashes shall abhor the touch 
Of any other. — O unkind, and cruel ! 
Learn, women, learn to trust in one another ; 
There is no faith in man : Sforza is fiUse, 
False to Marcelia ! 

Fran. But I am true. 
And live to make you happy. All the pomp, 
State, and observance, jov had, being his. 
Compared to what you shall enjoy, when mine. 
Shall be no more remember 'd. Lose his memory, 
And look with cheerful beams on your new 

creature ; 
And know what he hath plotted for your good. 
Fate cannot alter. If the emperor 
Take not his life, at his return he dies. 
And by my hand ; my wife, that is his heir. 
Shall quickly follow : — then we reign alone ! 
For with this arm I'll swim through seas of blood. 
Or make a bridge, arch'd with the bones of men, 
But I will grasp my aims in you, my dearest, 
Dearest, and best of women ! 

Mare. Thou art a villain ! 
All attributes of arch-villains made into one. 
Cannot express thee. I prefer the hate 
Of Sforza, though it mark me for the grave. 
Before thy base affection. I am yet 
Pure and unspotted in my true lore to him ; 
Nor shall it be corrupted, though he's tainted : 
Nor will I part with innocence, because 
He is found guilty. For thyself, thou art 
A thing, that, equal with the devil himself, 
I do detest and scorn. 

Fran. Thou, then, art nothing : 
Thy life is in my power, disdainful woman ! 
Think on't, and tremble. 

Marc. No, though thou wert now 
To play thy hangman's part — ^Thou well may'st be 
My executioner, and art only fit 
For such employment ; but ne'er hope to have 
The least grace from me. 1 will never see thee, 
But as the shame of men : so, with my curses 
Of horror to thy conscience in this life. 
And pains in hell hereafter, I spit at thee ; 
And, making haste to make my peace with heaven. 
Expect thee as my hangman. lExtt. 

Fran. 1 am lost 
In the discovery of this fatal secret. 
Cursed hope that flatter'd me, that wrongs could 

make her 
A stranger to her goodness 1 all my plots 
Turn hick upon myself; but I am in. 
And must go on : and, since 1 have put off 
From the shore of innocence, guilt be now my 

pilot ! 
Revenge first wrought me; murder's his twin 

brother : 
One deadly sin, then, help to cure another I 


SCENE I. — The Imperial Camp, before Pavta. 

Enter Hsdina, Hkknaicoo, and Alphonho. 

Med, The spoil, the spoil ! 'tis that the soldier 
fights for. 
Our Tictory, as yet, affords us nothing 
But woandji and empty honour. We have passed 
The hazard of a dreadful day, and forced 
A passage with our swords through all the dan- 
That, page-like, wait on the succesi of war ; 
And now expect reward. 

Hem, Hell put it in 
The enemy's mind to be desperate, and hold out ! 
Yieldings and compositions will undo us ; 
And what is that way riven, for the most part, 
Comes to the emperor s coffers, to defray 
l\ie charge of the great action, as 'tis rumour'd : 
When usually, some thing in grace, that ne*er 

The cannon's roaring tongue, but at a triumph, 
Puts in, and for his intercession shares 
All that we fought for ; the poor soldier left 
To starve, or fiU up hospitals. 

Aiph, But, when 
MTe enter towns by force, and carve ourselves. 
Pleasure with pillage, and the richest wines 
Open our shrunk-up veins, and pour into them 
New blood and fersour 

Afed. I long to be at it ; 
To see these chuffs, that every day may spend 
A soldier's entertainment for a year, 
Yet make a third meal of a bunch of raisins : 
These sponges, that suck up a kingdom's fat, 
Battening like scarabs in the dung uf peace. 
To be squeezed out by the rough hand of war ; 
And all that their whole lives have heap'd together, 
By cozenage, perjury, or sordid thrift, 
With one gripe to be ravish 'd. 

Hem, I would be tousing 
Their fair madonas, that in little dogs, 
Monkeys, and paraqnittos, consume thousands ; 
Yet, for the advancement of a noble action, 
Repine to part with a poor piece of eight : 
War's plagues upon them ! 1 have seen them stop 
Their scornful noses first, then stem to swoon. 
At sight of a buff jerkin, if it were not 
Perfumed, and hid with gold : yet these nice 

Spurr'd on by lust, cover'd in some disguise, 
To meet some rough court-stallion, and be leap'd, 
Durst enter into any common brothel. 
Though all varieties of stink contend there ; 
Yet praise the entertainment. 

MetL 1 may live 
To see the tatter*d'st rascals of my troop 
Drag them out of their closets, with a vengeance ! 
W^hen neither threat'ning, flattering, kneeling, 

Can ransome one poor jewel, or redeem 
Themselves, from their blunt wooing. 

Hem, My main hope is. 
To begin the sport at Milan : there's enough. 
And oi all kinds of pleasure we can wish for, 
To satisfy the most covetous. 

Alph. Every day. 
We look for a remofe. 

Med. For Lodowick Sforza. 
The duke of Milan, I, on mine own knowledge, 
Can say thus much : he is too much a soldier, 
Too confident of his own worth, too rich too. 
And understands too well the emperor hates hinu 
To hope for composition. 

Aiph, On my life, 
We need not fear his coming in. 

Hem, On mine, 
I do not wish it : I had rather that. 
To shew his valour, he'd put us to the trouble 
To fetch him in by the ears. 

Med, The emperor ! 

FUmriA, EnUr CiiAaLss, Psscara, and Attendants. 

Charl, You make me wonder: — nay, it .is no 
You may partake it, gentlemen: who'd have 

That he, that scom'd our proffer'd amity 
When he was sued to, should, ere he be summon'd, 
(Whether persuaded to it by base fear, 
Or flatter'd by false hope, which, 'tis uncertain,) 
First kneel for mercy ? 

Med. When your majesty 
Shall please to instruct us who it is, we may 
Admire it with you. 

Charl. Who, but the duke of Milan, 
The right hand of the French 1 of all that stand 
In our displeasure, whom necessity 
Compels to seek our favour, I would have sworn 
Sforza had been the last. 

Hern. And should be writ so. 
In the list of those you pardon. Would his city 
Had rather held us out a siege, like Troy, 
Than, by a feign'd submission, he should cheat 

Of a just revenge ; or us, of those fair glories 
We have sweat blood to purchase ! 

Med. With your honour 
You cannot hear him. 

Alph. The sack alone of Milan 
Will pay the army. 

Chart. I am not so weak, 
To be wrought on, as you fear ; nor ignorant 
That money is the sinew of the war : 
And on what terms soever he seek peace, 
'Tis in our power to grant it, or deny it : 
Yet, for our glory, and to show him that 
We've brought him on his knees, it is resolved 
To hear him as a suppliant. Bring him in ; 
But let him see the effects of our just anger. 
In the guard that you make for him. 

lExit PiarABA. 

Hem, I am now 
Familiar with the issue : all plagues on it ! 
He will appear in some dejected habit. 
His countenance suitable, and for his order, 
A rope about his neck : then kneel, and tell 
Old stories, what a worthy thing it is 
To have power, and not to use it ; then add to 

A tale of king Tigranes, and great Pompey, 
Who said, forsooth, and wisely ; 'twas mure 

To make a king, than kill one : which, spplicd 
To the emperor, and himself, a paniun'h griiYit***! 




To him an enemy ; and we, his senrants, 
CoiulenmM to beggary. lAtidt to Mao. 

Aled. Yonder he com; 8 ; 
But not as you expectei. 

Rt-€nter Pkscara witX Sfohza, Hrongly guardtd. 

Atph, He looks as if 
ile would outface his dangers. 

Hern. I am cozen'd : 
A suiror, in the deviKs name ! 

Med. Hear him speak. 

Sfitr. I come not, emperor, to invade thy mercy, 
By fawning on thy fortune ; nor bring with me 
£xcus«*s, or denials. 1 profess, 
And with a good man's confidence, even this 

That I am in thy power, I was thine enemy ; 
I1iy deadly and vow'd enemy : one that wish'd 
Confusion to thy person and estates ; 
And with my utmost powers, and deepest connsels. 
Had they been truly fullow'd, fiirther'd it. 
Nor will I now, although my neck were under 
The hangman's aie, with one poor syllable 
Confess, but that I honourM the French king, 
More than thyself, and all men. 

Med, By saint Jaques, 
This is no flattery. 

Hern, There is Are and spirit in't ; 
But not long-liTcd, I hope. 

Sfor, Now give me leare. 
My bate against thyself, and love to him 
Freely acknowledged, to give up the reasona 
That made me so affected : In my wants 
I ever found him faithful ; had supplies 
Of men and monies from him ; and my hopes, 
Quite sunk, were, by his grace, buoy'd up again : 
He was, indeed, to me, as my good angel 
To guard me from all dangers. I dare s}>eaa, 
Nay, must and will, his praise now, in as high 
And loud a key, as when he was thy equal. — 
The benefits he sow'd in me, met not 
Unthankful ground, but yielded him his own 
With fair increase, and I still glory in it. 
And, though my fortunes, poor, compared to his. 
And Milan, weigh'd with France, appear as nothing, 
Are in thy fury burnt, let it be mention 'd, 
They served but as small tapers to attend 
The solemn flame at this great funeral : 
And with them I will gladly waste myself, 
Rather than undergo the imputation 
Of being base, or unthankful. 

Alph. Nobly spoken 1 

Hern, I do begin, 1 know not why, to hate him 
Less than I did. 

Sfor. If that, then, to be grateful 
For courtesies received, or not to leave 
A friend in his necessities, be a crime 
Amongst you Spaniards, which other nations 
That, like you, aim'd at empire, loved, and 

Where'er they found it, Sfona brings his head 
To pay the forfeit Nor come I as a slave, 
Pinion'd and fetter'd. in a squalid weedy 
Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling, 
For a forestall'd remission : that were poor, 
And would but shame thy victory ; for conquest 
Over base foes, is a captivity. 
And not a triumph. I oe'er fear*d to die. 
More than I wish'd to live. When I had reach'd 
My ends in being a duke, I wore these robes, 

This crown upon my head, and to my side 
This sword was girt ; and witness truth, that, now 
'Tis in another's power, when 1 shall part 
With them and life together, I'm the same : 
My veins then did not swell with pride ; nor now 
Shrink they for fear. Know, sir, that Sforza stands 
Prepared for either fortune. 

Hern. As I live, 
I do begin strangely to love this fellow ; 
And could part with three quarters of my share in 
The promised spoil, to save him. 

Sfor. But, if example 
Of my fidelity to the French, whose honours. 
Titles, and glories, are now mix'd with yours. 
As brooks, devour'd by rivers, lose their names. 
Has power to invite you to make him a friend. 
That hath given evident proof, he knows to love. 
And to be thankful : this my crown, now yours, 
You may restore me, and in me instruct 
Tbese brave commanders, should your fortune 

Which now I wish not, what they may expect 
From noble enemies, for bein^ fiiithfuL 
The charges of the war I will defray. 
And, what you may, not without hazard, force. 
Bring freely to you : I'll prevent the cries 
Of murder'd infants, and of ravished maids. 
Which, in a city sack'd, call on heaven's justice. 
And stop the course of glorious victories : 
And, when I know the captains and the soldiers. 
That have in the late battle done best service, 
And are to be rewarded, I myself. 
According to their quality and merits. 
Will see them largely recompensed. — I have said, 
And now expect my sentence. 

Alph. By this light, 
'Tis a brave gentleman. 

Med. How like a block 
The emperor sits ! 

Hem. He hath deliver'd reasons. 
Especially in his purpose to enrich 
Such as fought bravely, (I myself am one, 
I care not who knows it,) as I wonder that 
He can be so stupid. Now he b^ns to stir. 
Mercy, an't be thy will ! 

Chart. Thou hast so far 
Outgone my expectation, noble Sforza, 
For such I hold thee ; — and true cons>tancy. 
Raised on a brave foundation, bears such )>alm 
And privilege with it, that where we behold it. 
Though in an enemy, it does command us 
To love and honour it. By my future hopes, 
I am glad, for thy sake, that, in seeking favour. 
Thou didst not borrow of vice her indirect, 
Crooked, and abject means ; and for mine own. 
That, since my purposes must now be changed. 
Touching thy life and fortunes, the world cannot 
Tax me of levity in my settled counsels ; 
I being neither wrought by tempting bribes, 
Nor servile flattery ; but forced into it 
By a tair war of virtue. 

Hern. This sounds well. 

Chart, All former passages of hate be buried : 
For thus with open arms I meet thy love. 
And as a friend embrace it ; and so far 
I am from robbing thee of the least honour. 
That with my hands, to make it sit the faster, 
I set thy crown once more upon thy head ; 
And do not only style thee Duke of Milan. 
But vow to keep thee so. Yet. not to uke 

Vnm others to gi?e only to myself, 

I will not hinder your magnificence 

To my commanders, neither will I arge it ; 

Bat in tkst, as in all things else, I leave yon 

To be year own disposer. 

iFUmrUk, Exit with Attandants. 

Slfhr. May I live 
To seal my loyalty, though with loss of life, 
In some brmve service worthy Ciesar's favour, 
A.nd 1 shall die most happy ! Gentlemen, 
Receive me to your loves ; and if henceforth 
There can arise a difTerence between us« 
It iihall be in a noble emulation 
Who hath the fainwt sword, or dare go farthest, 
To fight for Charles the emperor. 

Hem, We embrace jou, 
As one well read in all ibe points of honour : 
And there we are your scholars. 

S^or. True ; but such 
As far outstrip the master. We'll contend 
In love hereafter ; in the mean time, pray you, 
Let me discharge my debt, and, as an earnest 
Of what's to come, divide this cabinet ; 
In the small body of it there are jewels 
Will yield a hundred thousand pistolets. 
Which honour me to receive. 

AfetL You bind us to you. 

i(Jor. And when great Charles commands me 
to his presence. 
If you will please to excuse my abrupt departure. 
Designs that most concern me, next this mercy, 
Calling me home, I shall hereafter meet you. 
Anil gratify the favour. 

Hem. In this, and all things, 
We are your servants. 

^or, A name I ever owe you. 

lExeunt Mkdiha, IIinirAjrDO, and ALraomo. 

Pese. So, sir ; this tempest is well overblown, 
And all things fall out to our wishes : but. 
In my opinion, this quick return. 
Before you've made a party in the court 
Among the great ones, (for these needy captains 
Have little power in peace,) may beget danger, 
At least suspicion. 

S/or. Where true honour lives, 
Doubt hath no being : I desire no pawn 
Beyond an emperor* s word, for my assurance. 
Besides, Pescara, to thyself, of all men, 
I will confess my weakness : — though my state 
And crown's restored me, though I am in grace, 
And that a little stay might be a step 
To greater honours, I must hence. Alas ! 
I Hve not here ; my wife, my wife, Pescara, 
Being absent, I am dead. Prithee, excuse, 
And do not chide, for friendship's sake, my fond- 

But ride along with me ; I'll give you reasons. 
And strong ones, to plead for me. 

Pete, Use your own pleasure ; 
I'll bear you company. 

Sifor. Farewell, grief ! I am stored with 
Two blessings most desired in human life, 
A constant friend, an unsuspected wife. [Exeunt, 

SCENE II. — Milan. A Room in the Castle, 
Enter an Officer teitk Graccho. 
OJie. What I did I had warrant for ; you have 
My ottot gently, and for those soft strokes. 

Flea-bitings to the jerks I oonld hiTe lent yon. 
There does belong a feeling. 

Grac, Must I pay 
For being tormented, and dishonoar'd ? 

OJlo, Fie! no. 
Your honour's not impair'd in't. What's the let- 

ting out 
Of a little corrupt blood, and the next way too ? 
There is no surgeon like me, to take off 
A courtier's itch that's rampant at great ladies. 
Or turns knave for preferment, or grows proud 
Of his rich cloaks and suits, though got by brokage. 
And so forgets his betters. 

Grac, Very good, sir : 
But am I the first man of quality 
That e'er came under your fingers? 

OJJie, Not by a thousand ; 
And they have said I have a lucky hand too : 
Both men and women of all sorts have bow'd 
Under this sceptre. I have had a fellow 
That could endite, forsooth, and make fine metres 
To tinkle in the ears of ignorant madams, 
That, for defaming of great men, was sent me 
Threadbare and lousy, and in three days after, 
Discharged by anoUier that set him on, I have 

seen him 
Cap k pi^ gallant, and his stripes wash'd off 
With oil of angels. 

Grae, 'Twas a sovereign cure. 

Ojffi.e There was a sectary too, that would not be 
Conformable to the orders of the church. 
Nor yield to ai^ argument of reason, 
But still rail at authority, brought to me. 
When 1 had worm'd his tongue, and truss'd hit 

Grew a fine pulpitman, and was beneficed : 
Had he not cause to thank me ? 

Grae, There was physic 
Was to the purpose. 

Offic. Now, for women, sir. 
For your more consolation, I could tell yoa 
Twenty fine stories, but I'll end in one. 
And 'tis the last that's memorable. 

Grac, Prithee, do ; 
For I grow weary of thee. 

Qffic. There was lately 
A fine she-waiter in the court that doted 
Extremt-ly of a gentleman, that had 
His main dependence on a signior's favour 
I will not name, but could not compass him 
On any termsi. This wanton, at dead midnight. 
Was found at the exercise behind the arras, 
With the 'foresaid signior : he got clear off, 
But she was seized on, and, to save his honour, 
Endured the lash ; and, though I made her often 
Curvet and caper, she would never tell 
Who play'd ac puMh-pin with her. 

Orac. But what fullow'd ? 
Prithee be brief. 

Ojffic. Why this, sir : She deliver'd. 
Had store of crowns assigu'd her by her patron. 
Who forc'd the gentleman, to save her credit. 
To marry her, and say he was the party 
Found in Ix)b's pound : so she. that, bi fore, gladly 
Would have been his whore, reigns o'er him as his 

wife ; 
Nor dares he grumble at it. Speak but truth, then* 
Is not my office lucky .' 

Grac. Go, tl»ere'» for thee ; 
But what will be mv fortune ' 




Offie, If yoa thriTe not 
After that soft correction, come again. 

Grac, 1 thank yon, knave. 

Offic, And then, knave, I will fit yon. lExit. 

Grao. Whipt like a rogne ! no lighter puniab- 
ment serve 
To balance with a little mirth ! 'Tis well ; 
My credit sunk for ever, I am now 
Fit company only for pages and for footboys, 
That have perused the porter's lodge. 

Enter Juuo and OiovAKin. 

Gtoo. See, Julio, 
Yonder the proud slave is. How he looks now. 
After his castigation 1 

JhL As he came 
From a close fight at sea under the hatches, 
With a she- Dunkirk, that was shot before 
Between wind and water ; and he hath sprung a 
Or I am cozen'd. [leak too, 

Giov, Let's be merry with him. 

Grac, How they stare at me ! am I tum'd to 
The wonder, gentlemen? [an owl ? — 

Jul. I resiid, this morning. 
Strange stories of the passive fortitude 
Of men in former ages, which 1 thought 
Impossible, and not to be believed : 
But now I look on you my wonder ceases. 

Gioe, The reason, sir ? 

Jul. Why, s|r, you have been whipt, 
Whipt, Signior Graccho ; and the whip, I take it. 
Is, to a gentleman, the greatest trial 
That may be of his patience. * 

Grac. Sir, I'll call you 
To a strict account for this. 

Giov. ril not deal with you. 
Unless I have a beadle for my second : 
And then TU answer you. 

Jul, Farewell, poor Graccho. 

\^Exeunt Jouo and GtowAHnt. 

Grac, Better and better still. If ever wrongs 
Could teach a wretch to find the way to vengeance, 

Enter Francisco and a Servant. 

Hell now inspire me ! How, the lord protector ? 
My judge ; 1 thank him ! Whither thus in private ? 
I will not see him. IStande atide. 

Fran If 1 am sought tor. 
Say 1 am indisposed, and will not hear 
Or suits, or suitors. 

Serv. But, sir, if the princess 
Enquire, what shall I answer ? 

Fran, Say, I am rid 
Abroad to take the air : but by no means 
Let her know Pm in court. 

Serv. So I shall tell her. ZExit. 

Fran, Within there, ladies ! 

EfUer a Gentlewoman. 

Genilew. My good lord, your pleasure ? 

Fran. Prithee, let me bc^ thy favour for access 
To the dutchess. 

Genilew. In good sooth, my lord, I dare not ; 
She's very private. 

Fran. Come, there's gold to buy thee 
A new gown, and a rich one. 

Gentlew, I once swore 
If e'er I lost my maidenhead, it should be 
With a great lord, as you are ; and, I know not how, 
I feel a yielding inclination in me, 
If you have appetite. 

Fran, Poi on thy maidenhead ! 
Where is thy lady ? 

Gentlew. If you venture on her. 
She's walking in the gallery : perhaps, 
You will find her less tractable. 

Fran, Bring me to her. 

Gentlew, I fear you'll have cold entertainment, 
You are at your journey's end ; and 'twere dis- 
To take a snatch by the way. [cretion 

Fran. Pr'3^hee, leave fooling : 
My page waits in the lobby; give him sweetmeats ; 
He is train'd up for his master's ease, 
And he will cool thee. lExevnt Fkaw. and G«ntl6w. 

Grac, A brave discovery beyond my hope, 
A plot even ofTer'd to my hand to work on ! 
If I am dull now, may I live and die 
The scorn of worms and slaves ! — Let me consider ; 
My lady and her mother first committed, 
In the fovour of the dutchess ; and I whipt ! 
That, with an iron pen, is writ in brass 
On my tough heart, now grown a harder metal. — 
And sll his bribed approaches to the dutchess 
To be conceal'd ! good, good. This to my lady 
Deliver'd, as I'll order it, runs her mad. — 
But this may prove but courtship ! let it be, 
I care not, so it feed her jealousy. lExU, 

SCENE III — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Makcblia and Francisoo. 

Marc. Believe thy tears or oaths ! can it be 
After a practice so abhorr'd and horrid. 
Repentance e'er can find thee ? 

Fran, Dearest lady. 
Great in your fortune, greater in your goodness, 
Make a superlative of eicellence. 
In being greatest in your saving mercy. 
1 do confess, humbly confess my fault, 
To be beyond all pity ; my attempt. 
So barbarou$ly rude, that it would turn 
A saint-like patience into savage fiiry. 
But you, that are all innocence and virtue. 
No spleen or anger in you of a woman. 
But when a holy zeal to piety fires you, 
May, if you please, impute the fault to love, 
Or call it beastly lust, for 'tis no better ; 
A sin, a monstrous sin ! yet with it many 
That did prove good men after, have been tempted ; 
And, though I'm crooked now, 'tis in your power 
To make me straight again. 

Marc, Is't possible 
This can be cunning ! \,A9ide, 

Fran, But, if no submission. 
Nor prayers can appease you, that you may know 
'Tis not the fear of death that makes roe sue thus. 
But a loath'd detestation of my madness. 
Which makes me wish to live to have your pardon; 
1 will not wait the sentence of the duke, 
Since his return is doubtful, but I myself. 
Will do a fearful justice on myself. 
No witness by but you, there being no more, 
When I offended. Yet, before 1 do it. 
For I perceive in you no sie^ns of mercy, 
I will disclose a secret, which, dying with me,, 
May prove your ruin. 

Marc. Speak it ; it will take from 
The burthen of thy conscience. 




Fra9u Thus, then, madam : 
Tlie warraot by my lord sign'd for your death, 
Was but conditional ; but you must swear, 
By your ans|H>tted truth, not to reveal it, 
Or I end here abruptly. 

Marc. By my hopes 
Of joys hereafter. On. 

Fran. Nor was it hate 
That forced him to it, bat excess of lore. 
And, if J ne*ez return, (so said great Sforsa,) 
No living man deterring to enjog 
Mg best MareeliUt with the first news 
Thai I am dead, (for no man after me 
Must e'er enjog her, ) fail not to kill her^—^ 
But till certain proof 

Assure thee I am lost, (these were his words,) 
Observe and honour her, as if the soul 
Of woman* s goodness onlg dwelt in her*s. 
This tmst I have abused, and basely wrongM ; 
And, if the eicelling pity of your mind 
Cannot forgive i*^, as I dare not hope it, 
Rather than look on my offended lord, 
I stand resolved to punish it IDraw hit sword. 

Marc, Hold ! 'tis forgiven. 
And by me freely pardon'd. In thy fair life 
Hereafter, study to deserve this bounty. 
Which thy true penitence, such I believe it. 
Against my resolution hath forced from me. — 
But that my lord, my Sforza, should esteem 
My life fit only as a page, to wait on 
The various course of his uncertain fortunes ; 
Or cherish in himself that sensual hofte. 
In death to know me as a wife, afllicts me ; 
Nor does his envy less deserve mine anger. 
Which though, such is my love, I would not nou- 
Will slack the ardour that I had to see him 
Return in safety. 

Fran. But if your entertainment 
Should give the least ground tu hi« jealousy, 
To raise up an opinion I am false, 
You then destroy your mercy. Therefore, madam, 
(Though I shall ever look on you as on 
My life's preserver, and the miracle 
Of human pity,) would you but vouchsafe. 
In cosipany, tn do me those fair graces, 
And favours, which your innocence and honour 
May snfely warrant, it would to the duke, 
I being to your best self alone known guilty, 
Make me appear roost innocent. 

Marc. Have your wishes ; 
And something 1 may do to try his temper. 
At least, to make him know a constant wife 
Is not so slaved to her husband's doting humours, 
But that she may deserve to live a widow, 
Her fate appointing it. 

Fran. It is enough ; 
Nay, all I could desire, and will make way 
To my revenge, which shall disperse itself 
On htm, on her, and all. 

[Aside and exiL — Shout and Jlourish, 

Mare. What shout is that ? 

EntfT TiBBRio and BmniAno, 

Tib. All happiness to the dutchess, that may 
From the duke's new and wish'd return I 
Mare. He's welcome. 
Steph. How coldly she receives it 1 
Tib. Observe the encounter. 

Nourish, Enter Sforza, Pkscara, Isabxlla, Mariaxa, 
Oraccho. and Attendants. 

Mart, W^hat you have told me, Graccho, is be- 
And ru find time to stir in't. [lieved, 

Grac, As you see cause ; 
I will not do ill offices. 

Sfor, I have stood 
Silent thus long, Marcelia, expecting 
When, with more than a greedy haste, thou wouldst 
Have flown into my «arms, and on my lips 
Have printed a deep welcome. My desires 
To glass myself in these fair eyes, have bom me 
With more than human speed : nor durst I stay 
In any temple, or to any saint 
To pay my vows and thanks for my return, 
Till I had seen thee. 

Marc. Sir, I am most happy 
To look upon you safe, and would express 
My love and duty in a modest fashioh. 
Such as might suit with the behaviour 
Of one that knows herself a wife, and how 
To temper her desires, not like a wanton 
Fired with hot appetite ; nor can it wrong me 
To love discreetly. 

Sfor, How ! why, can there be 
A mean in your affections to Sforza ? 
Or any act, though ne'er so loose, that may 
Invite or heighten appetite, appear 
Immodest or uncomely ? Do not move me ; 
My passions to you arc in extremes. 
And know no bounds :— come ; kiss me. 

Marc. I obey you. 

Sfor. By all the joys of love, she does salute me 
As if I were her grandfather I What witch, 
W^ith cursed spells, hath quench 'd the amoroui 

That lived upon these lips ? Tell me, Marcelia 
And truly tell me, is't a fault of mine 
That hath begot this coldness ? or n^lect 
Of others, in my absence ? 

Marc. Neither, sir : 
1 stand indebted to your substitute. 
Noble and good Francisco, for his care 
And fair observance of me : there was nothing 
With which you, l>eing present, could supply me. 
That I dare say I wanted. 

Sfor. How! 

Marc. The pleasures, 
That sacred Hymen warrants us, excepted. 
Of which, in troth, you are too great a doter ; 
And there is more of beast in't than man. 
Let us love temperately ; things violent last not, 
And too much dotage rather argues folly 
Than true affection. 

Grac. Observe but this. 
And how she praised my lord's care and observance; 
And then judge, madam, if my intelligence 
Have any ground of truth. 

Mari. No more ; I mark it. 

Steph. How the duke stanos ! 

Tib. As he were rooted there. 
And had no motion. 

Pesc. My lord, from whence 
Grows this amazement ? 

Sfor. It is more, dear my friend ; 
For I am doubtful whether I've a being. 
But certain that my life's a burden to me. 
Take me back, good Pescara, shew me to Caesar 
In all his rage and fury ; I disclaim 
His mercy : to live now, which is his gift. 



ACT nr. 

If wone than death, and widi all ftudied tormenta. 

Maroelia is ankiiid, nay, worse, grown cold 

In her afleetion ; my exoess of ferroar, 

Which yet was nerer eqaall'd, grown distasteful. 

— Bnt hare thy wishes, woman ; thon shalt know 

That I can be roywlf, and thus shake off 

The fetters of fond dotage. From my sight, 

Without reply ; for I am apt to do 

Something I may repent. — ISxii Marc] — Oh ! 

who would place 
His happiness in most acca rac d woman. 

In whom obwqcioQsness engm d eia pride ; 
And harshnesk deadly hatred ! FVtNB this hoar 
ril labour to foiget there are tndi creatines ; 
True firienda be now my miitii'iisii 


And, though my heart-strfngi cradc fin^t, I will be 
To all a free example of delight. 
We will haye sports of all kinds, mti 
Rewards to sndi as can prodoee ns new ; 
Unsatisfied, though we surfeit in their store : 
And never think of cnn'd MaraeHa more. [J 


SCENE l^—Tke same. A Boom in the CagiU, 

Enter ViiAfKiaco and Qkaocbo. 

Fran. And is it possible thou shouldst foi^get 
A wrong of such a nature, and then study 
My safety and content ? 

Grae. Sir, but allow me 
Only to have read the elements of courtship. 
Not the abstruse and hidden arts to thrive there ; 
And you may please to grant me so much know- 
That injuries from one in grace, like you, [ledge, 
Are noble favours. Is it not grown common, 
In every sect, for those that want, to suffer 
From such as have to give ? Your captain cast. 
If poor, though not thought daring, but approved 
To raise a coward into name, that's rich, [so, 

Suffers disgraces publicly ; but receives 
Rewards tor them in private. 

Fran. Well obwrved. 
Put on ; we'll be familiar, and discourse 
A little of this argument. That day. 
In which it was firat rumour'd, then confirm *d. 
Great Sforza thought me worthy of his favour, 
I found myself to be another thing; 
Not what I was before. I passed then 
For a pretty fellow, and of pretty parts too, 
And was perhaps received so ; but, once raised. 
The liberal courtier made me master of 
Those virtues which 1 ne'er knew in myself : 
If I pretended to a jest, 'twas made one 
By their interpretation ; if 1 offer'd 
To reason of philosophy, though absurdly, 
Tliey had helps to save me, and without a blush 
Would swear that I, by nature, had more knowledge, 
Than others could acquire by any labour : 
Nay, all I did, indeed, which in another 
Was not remarkable, in me shew'd rarely. 

Grae. But then they tasted of your bounty. 

Fran. True : 
They gave me those good parts I was not bom to, 
And, by my intercession, they got that 
>\ hich, had 1 cross'd them, they durst not have 
hoped for. 

Grae, All this i:* oracle : and shall I, then, 
For a foolish whipping, lenve to honour him. 
That holds the wheel of fortune > no ; that savours 
Too much of the ancient freedom. Since great 

Receive disgraces and give thanks, poor knaves 
Must have nor spleen nor anger. Though I love 
My limbs as well as any man, if you had now 
A humour to kick me lame into an office. 
Where I might sit in state and undo othen, 

Stood I not bound to kiss the foot diat £d it ? 
Though it seem strange, there have been aodi things 
In the memory of man. [sem 

Fran. But to the purpose. 
And then, that service done, make thine own for* 
My wife, thou say'st, is jealous I am too [tonek 
Familiar with the dutchera. 

Grae, And incensed 
For her commitment in her brother's •hoeaee ; 
And by her mother's anger is spurr'd on 
To make discovery of it. This her purpose 
Was trusted to my charge, which I decfined 
As much as in me lay ; but, finding her 
Determinately bent to undertake it. 
Though breaking my faith to her may destroy 
My credit with your lordship, I yet thought. 
Though at my peril, I stood bound to reveal it. 

Fran. I thank thy care, and will deserve this 
In making thee acquainted with a greater, [secret. 
And of more moment. Come into my bosom. 
And take it from me : Canst thou think, duD 

My power and honours were conferred upon me. 
And, add to them, this form, to have my pleasures 
Confined and limited ? I delightf in change. 
And sweet variety ; that's my heaven on earth. 
For which I love life only. I confess. 
My wife pleased me a day, the dutchess, two, 
(And yet I must not say I have enjoy 'd her,) 
But now I care for neither : therefore, Graodio^ 
So far I am from stopping Mariana 
In making her complaint, that 1 desire thee 
To urge her to it. 

Grae. That may prove your ruin : 
The duke already being, hs 'tis reported. 
Doubtful she hath play'd false. 

Fran. There thou art cozen'd ; 
His dotage, like an ague, keeps his course. 
And now 'tis strongly on him. But I lose timOy 
And therefore know, whether thou wilt or no. 
Thou art to be ray instrument ; and, in spite 
Of the old saw, that says, II is not safe 
On any terms to trust a man that's wrong'd, 
I dare thee to be false. 

Grae. This is a language, 
Mv lord, I understand not. 

Fran. You thought, sirrah, 
To put a trick on me for the relation 
Of what I knew before, and, having won 
Some weighty secret from me, in revenge 
"t'o play the traitor. Know, thou wretched thing. 
By my command thou wert whipt ; and every day 
I'll have thee freshly tortured, if thou miss 




h tlie least charge that I impose npoo thee. 
IVwgfa what I speak, for the most part, is true : 
Naj, grant thou hadst a thousand witnesses 
To be deposed they heard it, 'tis in me 
With one word, such is Sforza's confidence 
Of my fidelity not to be shaken, 
To niake all Toid, and ruin my accusers. 
X'berefore look to't ; bring my wife hotly on 
To accuse me to the duke — I hsYC an end in't, 
Or think what 'tis makes man most miserable. 
And that shall fall upon thee. Thou wert a fool 
*I!*o hope, by being acquainted with my courses, 
TTo curb and awe me ; or that 1 should live 
*Xliy slave, as thou didst saucily divine : 
Wor prying in my counsels, still live mine. lExii, 
Grae. 1 am caught on both sides. This 'ti:i for 
a puisne 
In policy's Protean school, to try conclusions 
^ith one that hath commenced, and gone out doc- 
If I discover what but now he bragg'd of, [tor. 
1 shaU not be believed: if I fall oflf 
From him, his threats and actions go together, 
Aad there's no hope of safety. Till I get 
A plummet that may sound bis deepest counsels, 
1 Bust obey and serve him : Want of skill 
Now makes me play the rogue againKt my will. 


SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
EmUr Mascsua, Tiuaio, Stbpuano, and Gentlewoman. 

Mmro. Command me from his sight, and with 
such scorn 
As he would rate his slave I 

Tib. 'Twas in his fury. 

Sieph, And he repents it, madam. 

Mare. Was I bom 
To observe his humours ? or, because he dotes. 
Must 1 run mad } 

Tib, If that your Excellence 
Would please but to receive a feeling knowledge 
Of what he suffers, and how deep the least 
Unkindness wounds from you, you would excuse 
His hasty language. 

Steph, He hath paid the forfeit 
Of his offence. I'm sure, with such a sorrow. 
As, if it had been greater, would deserve 
A full remission. 

Mare. Why, perhaps, he hath it ; 
And I stand more afflicted for his absence. 
Than he can be for mine : — so, pray you, tell him. 
But, till I have digested some sad thoughts, 
And reconciled passions that are at war 
Within myself, [ purpose to be private : 
And have you care, unless it be Francisco, 
That no man be admitted. lExit Geutlewoman. 

Tib, How! Francisco? 

Steph. He, that at every stage keeps hvery mis- 
The stallion of the state ! [tre&ses ; 

Tib, They are things above us, 
And so no way concern us. 

Steph. If 1 were 
The duke, (I freely must confess my weakness,) 

Enter Francisoow 

I should wear yellow breeches. Here he comes. 

7^. Nay, spare your labour, lady ; we know our 
And quit the room. 

Steph. Is this her privacy ! 

Though with the hazard of a check, perhaps. 
This may go to the duke. 

lExeuHt Tiaaaio and Stsphano. 

Mare. Your face is full 
Of fears and doubts : the reason ? 

Fran. O, best madam. 
They are not counterfeit. I, your poor convert, 
That only wish to live in sad re)>entance. 
To mourn my desperate attempt of you. 
That have no ends nor aims, but that your good- 
Might be a witness of my penitence. 
Which seen, would teach you how to love your 

Am robb'd of that last hope. The duke, the duke, 
I more than fear, hath found that I am guilty. 

Mare. By my unspotted honour, not from me ; 
Nor have I with him changed one syllable, 
Since his return, but what you heard. 

Fran. Yet malice 
Is eagle-eyed, and would see that which is not ; 
And jealousy*s too apt to build upon 
Unsure foundations. 

Mare. Jealousy! 

Fran. [AMide.] It takes. 

Mare. Who dares but only think I can b* 
But for him, though almost on certain proof. 
To give it hearing, not belief, deserves 
My hate for ever. 

Fran. Whether grounded on 
Your noble, yet chaste favours shewn unto me ; 
Or her imprisonment, for her contempt 
To you, by my command, my frantic wife 
Hath put it in his head. 

Marc. Have I then lived 
So long, now to be doubted ? Are my favours 
The themes of her discourse ? or what I do. 
That never trod in a suspected path. 
Subject to base construction } Be undaunted ; 
For now, as of a creature that is mine, 
I rise up your protectress : all the grace 
I hitherto have done you, was bestow'd 
With a shut hand ; it shall be now more free. 
Open, and liberal. But let it not. 
Though counterfeited to the life, teach you 
To nourish saucy hopes. 

Fran. May I be blasted, 
When 1 prove such a monster ! 

Mare. I vriU stand then 
Between you and all danger. He shall know. 
Suspicion overturns what confidence builds ; 
And he that dares but doubt when there's no 

Is neither to himself nor others sound. lExU. 

Fran. So, let it work ! Her goodness, that 
My service, branded with the name of lust. 
Shall now destroy itself; and she shall find, 
When he's a suitor, that brings cunning arm'd 
With power, to be his advocates, the denial 
Is a disease as killing as the plague. 
And chastity a clue that leads to death. 
Hold but thy nature, duke, and be but rash 
And violent enough, and then at leisure 
Repent ; I care not. 

And let my plots produce this long'd-for birth, 
In mjf revenge 1 have my heaven on earth. [JEnt 



SCENE Ul,— Another Room in the same. 
Enter SroRZA, Psscara, and three Gentlemen. 

Peso. You promued to be merry. 

1 Gent. There are pleasures, 

And of all kinds* to entertain the time. 

2 Gent. Your excellence vouchsafing to make 
Of that whidh best affects you. [choice 

Sfor. Hold your prating. 
Learn manners too ; you are rude. 

3 Gent, I have my answer, 

Before I ask the question. lAtide. 

Pete. I must borrow 
The privilege of a friend, and will ; or else 
1 am like these, a servant, or, what's worse, 
A parasite to the sorrow Sforza worships 
In spite of reason. 

Sfor. Pray you, use your freedom ; 
And so far, if you please, allow me mine, 
To hear you only ; not to be compelled 
To take your moral potions. I am a man. 
And, though philosophy, your mistress, rage for't, 
Now I have cause to grieve. I must be sad ; 
And I dare shew it. 

Pettc. Would it were bestowed 
Upon a worthier subject ! 

SfoT, Take heed, friend. 
You rub a sore, whose pain will make me mad ; 
And I shall then forget myself and yon. 
Lance it no further. 

Peac. Have you stood the shock 
Of thousand enemies, and outfaced the anger 
Of a great emperor, that vow'd your ruin. 
Though by a desperate, a glorious way, 
That had no precedent? are yon retnm'd with 
honour, [yon. 

Loved by your subjects ? does your fortune court 
Or rather say, your courage does command it ? 
Have you given proof, to this hour of your life. 
Prosperity, that searches the best temper, 
Could never puff you up, nor adverse fate 
Deject your valour ? Shall, I say, these virtuea. 
So many and so various trials of 
Your constant mind, be buried in the frown 
(To please you, I will say so) of a fair woman ? 
— Yet I have seen her equals. 

Sfor. Good Pescara, 
This language in another were proline ; 
In you it is unmannerly. — Her equal I 
I tell you as a friend, and tell you plainly, 
(To all men else my sword should make reply,) 
Her goodness does disdain comparison. 
And, but herself, admits no paralleL 
But you will say she's cross ; 'tis fit she should be, 
When 1 am foolish ; for she's wise, Pescara, 
And knows how far she may dispose her bounties, 
Her honour safe ; or, if she were averse, 
*Twas a prevention of a greater sin 
Ready to foO upon me ; for she's not ignorant. 
But truly understands how much I love her. 
And that her rare parts do deserAC all honour. 
Her excellence increasing with her years too, 
I might have fallen into idolatry. 
And, from the admiration of her worth, 
Been taught to think there is no Power above her; 
And yet 1 do believe, had angels sexes, 
The most would be such women, and a<iiume 
No other shape, when they were to appear 
In their full glory. 

Peso. Well, sir, I'll not cross you, 
Nor labour to diminish jour esteeui, 
Hereafter, of her. Since your happiness. 
As you will have it, has alone de|)endence 
Upon her favour, from my soul 1 wish you 
A fair atonement. 

Sfor. Time, and my submission. 

Enter Tcbbrio and Stkpbano. 

May work her to it.— O ! you are well return'd ; 
Say, am I blest ? hath she vouchsafed to hear you? 
Is there hope left that she may be appeased ? 
Let her propound, and gladly Til subscribe 
To her conditions. 

Tib. She, sir, yet is froward 
And desires respite, and some privacy. 

Steph. She was harsh at first ; but, ere we 
parted, seemed not 

Sfor, There's comfort yet : Til ply her 
Each hour with new ambassadors of more honours, 
Titles, and eminence : my second self, 
Francisco, shall solicit her. 

Steph. That a wise man. 
And what is more, a prince that may command. 
Should sue thus poorly, and treat with his wife. 
As she were a victorious enemy. 
At whose proud feet, himself, his state, and coun- 
Basely begg'd mercy ' [try, 

Sfor. What is that you mutter ? 
Vn have thy thoughts. 

Steph. You shall. You are too fond, 
And feed a pride that's swollen too big already, 
And surfeits with observance. 

Sfor. O my patience ! 
My vassal speak thus ? 

Steph. Let my head answer it. 
If I offend. She, that you think a saint, 
I fear, may play fiie devil. 

Pete, Well said, old fellow. lAside. 

Steph. And he that bath lo long engross'd your 
Though to be named with reverence, lord Francisco, 
Who, as you purpose, shall solicit for you, 
I think 's too near her. 

[SroazA laps his hand on his steord. 

Pete. Hold, sir ! this is madness. 

Steph. It may be they confer of joining lord- 
I'm sure he's private with her. [ships ; 

Sfor. Let me go, 
I scorn to touch him ; he deserves my pity. 
And not my anger. Dotard ! and to be one 
Is thy protection, else thou durst not think 
That love to my Marcelia hath left room 
In my full heart for any jealous thought : — 
That idle passion dwell witli thick-skiun'd trades- 
The undeserving lord, or the unable ! [men, 

I.iOck up thy own wife, fool, that must take physic 
From her young doctor, physic upon her back, 
Bci^ause thou hast the palsy in that part 
That makes her active. I could smile to think 
W^hat wretched things they are that dare be jealous: 
Were I matched to another Messaline, 
While I found merit in myself to please her, 
I should believe her chaste, and would not seek 
To find out my own torment ; but alas ! 
Enjoying one that, but to me, 's a Dian, 
I am too secure. 

Tib. Thi:< is a confidcuce 
Beyond example. 


fL'BXB lU. 



Enter Graocho, IsABKua, and ALariama. 

Grae, There be b:— now speak, 
Or tie for ever silent. 

Sifor. If you come 
To bring me comfort, say that you have made 
My peace with my Maroelia. 

liab. I bad rather 
Wait on yon to your fimeral. 

Sfor. Yon are my mother ; 
Or, by her life, you were dead else. 

Mori. Would you were, 
To your dishonour ! and, since dotage makes you 
Wilfully blind, borrow of me my eyes, 
Or some part of my spirit. Are you all flesh ? 
A lump of patience only ? no fire in you ? 
Bat do your pleasure : — here your mother was 
Committed by your senraiit, (for I scorn 
To call him husband,) and myself, your sister, 
If that you dare remember such a name, 
Mew'd up, to make the way open and free 
For the adultress, I am unwilling 
To say, a part of Sforza. 

Slfor. Take her head off ! 
She hath blasphemed, and by our law must die. 

I»ab. Blasphemed ! for calling of a whore, a 

S/or, O heJl, what do I suffer ! [whore? 

Maru Or is it treason 
For me, that am a subject, to endeavour 
To save the honour of the duke, and that 
He should not be a wiltol on record ? 
For by posterity 'twill be believed. 
As certainly as now it can be proved, 
Francisco, the great minion, that sways all. 
To meet the chaste embraces of the dutchess, 
Hath leap'd into her bed. 

S/or. Some proof, vile creature ! 
Or thou hast spoke thy last. 

Mart. The public fame, 
T*»*f- hourly private meetings ; and e'en now, 
When, under a pretence of grief or anger, 
You are denied the joys due to a husband, 
And made a stranger to her, at all times 
The door stands open to hioi. To a Dutchman, 
This were enough, but to a right Italian, 
A hundred thousand witnesses. 

Itab. Would you have us 
To be her bawds } 

Sfor. O the malice 
And envy of base women, that with horror, 
Knowini^ their own defects and inward guilt, 
Dare lie, and swear, and damn, for wbufs most 
To CJUt aspersions upon one untainted ! [fuLie, 
Yr are in your natures deviU, and your ends. 
Knowing your reputation sunk for ever, 
And not to l>e recovered, to have all 
Wear your black Hvery. Wntches ! you have 
A monumental trophy to her purenesM, [raised 
In this your studied purpose to deprave her : 
And all the shot made by your foul detraction, 
Falling upon her 8ure>ariii'd innocence, 
Returns upon yourselves ; and, if my love 
Could suffer an addition, I'm so far 
Fnjm giving credit to you, thiH would tench roe 
More to admire and serve her. You are not 
To fall as sacrifices to appease her ; [worthy 

And therefore live till your own envy burst you, 

istib. All is in vain ; he is not to be moved. 

Mart, She has bewitch 'd him« 

Pete. *Tli so past -belief, 
To me it shews a fable. 

Enter Franciikx), speaking to a Servant tplthin, 

Fran. On thy hfe, 
Provide my horses, and without the port 
With care attend me. 

Serv. [ufithin.] I shall, my lord. 

Grac. He's come. 
What gimcrack have we neitP 

Fran, Great sir. 

Sfor. Francisco, 
Though all the joys in woman are fled from me. 
In thee I do embrace the full delight 
That I can hope from man. 

Fran. 1 would impart, 
Please you to lend your ear, a weighty secret, 
I am in labour to deliver to you. 

Sfor. All leave the room. \_Ereunt Is ab.Mari, 
and Graccho.] — Excuse me, good Pescara, 
Ere long I will wait on you. 

Pesc. You speak, sir. 
The language I should use. lExit 

Sfor, Be within call, 
Perhaps we may have use of you. 

Tib, We shall, sir. lExeunt Tib. and Sticpk. 

Sfor. Say on, my comfort. 

Fran. Comfort 1 no, your torment. 
For so my fate appoints me. I could curse 
The hour that gave me being. 

Sfor, What new monsters 
Of misery stand ready to devour me ? 
Let them at once dispatch me. 

Fran. Draw your sword then. 
And, as you wish your own peace, quickly kill me; 
Consider not, but do it. 

Sfor. Art thou mad ? 

Fran. Or, if to take my life be too much 
As death, indeed, concludos all human sorrows. 
Cut off my nose and ears ; pull out an eye. 
The other only left to lend me light 
To see my own deformities. Why was I bom 
Without some mulct imposed on me by nature ? 
Would from my youth a loathsome leprosy 
Had run upon this face, or that my breath 
Had been infectious, and bO made me shunn'd 
Of all societies ! Curs'd be he that taught me 
Discourse or manners, or lent any grace 
That makes the owner pleasing in the eye 
Of wanton women ! since those parts, which others 
Value as blessings, arc to me afflictions. 
Such my condition is. 

Sfor. I am on the rack : 
Di»!iolve this doubtful riddle. 

Fran. That I alone, 
Of all mankind, that stand most bound to love you, 
And study your content, should be ap|K)inU3d, 
Not by my will, but forced by cruel fate. 
To be your greatest enemy ! — not to hold you 
In this amazement longer, in a word. 
Your dutchess loves me. 

Sfor. Loves thee ! 

Fran. Is mad for me, 
Pursues me hourly. 

Sfor. Oh ! 

Fran. And from hence :?rew 
Her late neglect of you. 

Sfttr. O women ! women ! 

Fran. I laliour'd to i'i\ert her by persuasion, 
Then urged your much lo\e to her, and the danger ; 
Denied her, and wiili scorn. 

Sfor. Tw«h like thy»*elf. 


Fran. But when I saw her smile, then heard 
her 8ay, 
Your love and extreme dotage, as a cloak, 
Should cover our embraces, and your power 
Fright others from sospicion ; and all favours 
That should preserve her in her innocence, 
By Inst inverted to be used as bawds ; 
I could not but in duty Tthongh I know 
That the relation kills in you all hope 
Of peace hereafter, and in ^e 'twill shew 
Both base and poor tu rise up her accuser) 
Freely discover it. 

Sfor, Eternal plagues 
Pursue and overtake her ! for her sake. 
To all posterity may he prove a cuckold. 
And, like to me, a thing so miserable 
As words may not express him, that gives trust 
To all- deceiving women ! Or, since it is 
The will of heaven, to preserve mankind, 
That we must know and couple with these serpents, 
No wise man ever, taught by my example. 
Hereafter use his wife with more respect 
Than he would do his horse that does him service ; 
Base woman b^g in her creation made 
A slave to man. But, like a village nurse. 
Stand I now cursing and considering, when 
Hie tamest fool would do!— Within there! 

Tiberio, and the rest I 1 will be sudden, 

And she shall know and feel, love in extremes 
Abused, knows no d^ree in hate. 

filter TiBsmto and SrsPBANo. 

Tib, My lord. 

Sfor. Go to the chamber of that wicked wonuoi^ 

Steph, What wicked woman, sir ? 

Sfor, The devil, my wife. 
Force a rude entry, and, if she refuse 
To follow you, drag her hither by the hair, 
And know no pity ; any gentle usage 
To her will call on cruelty from me, 
To such as shew it. — Stand you staring ! CK>, 
And put my will in act. 
, Steph, There's no disputing. 

Tib, But 'tis a tempest, on the sudden raised. 
Who durst have dream'd of? 

IBxeunt Tibkrio and SrsPMAito. 

Sfor, Nay, since she dares damnation, 
V\i be a fury to her. 

Fran, Yet, gr^st sir. 
Exceed not in your fury ; she's jfet guilty 
Only in her intent. 

Sfor, Intent, Francisco ! 
It does include all fact ; and I might sooner 
Be won to pardon treason to my crown. 
Or one that kiU'd my father. 

Fran. You are wise. 
And know what's best to do : — yet, if you please, 
To prove her temper to the height, say only 
That I am dead, and then observe how far 
She'll be transported. I'll remove a little, 
But be within your call. — Now to the upshot ! 
Howe'er, I'll shift for one. lAtide and exiL 

Re-enter Tibbeio, Stspbaho, and Guard, with Mahtslu. 

Marc. Where is this monster, 
This walking tree of jealousy, this dreamer, 
This homed beast that would be ? Oh ! are you 

here, sir .* 
Is it by your commandment or allowance. 

I am thus basely used ? Which of my virtues. 
My labours, services, and cares to please you, 
For, to a man suspicious and unthankful, 
Without a blush I may be mine own trumpet, 
Invites this barbarous course ? dare you look on me, 
Without a seal of shame ? 

Sfor, Impudence, 
How ugly thou appear'st now ! Thy intent 
To be a whore, leaves thee not blood enough 
To make an honest blush : what had the act done ? 

Marc, Retum'd thee the dishonour thou de* 
Though willingly I had given up myself [serv'st ; 
To every common letcher. 

Sfor, Your chief minion. 
Your chosen favourite, your woo'd Francisco, 
Has dearly paid for't ; for, wretch ! know, he's 
And by my hand. [deai, 

Mare. The bloodier villain thou ! 
But 'tis not to bc/wonder'd at, thy love 
Does know no other object : — thou hast kill'd then, 
A man I do profess I loved ; a man 
For whom a thousand queens might well be rivals. 
But he, I speak it to thy teeth, that dares be 
A jealous fool, dares be a murderer. 
And knows no end in mischief. 

Sfor, I begin now 
In this my justice. [Stabt her. 

Mare. Oh ! I have fool'd myself 
Into my grave, and only grieve for that 
Which, when you know you've slain an innocent. 
You needs mnst suffer. 

Sfor. An innocent 1 Let one 
Call in Francisco ; — ^for he lives, vile creature, 

I Exit Stsphano. 
To justify thy falsehood, and how often, 
With whorish flatteries, thou hast tempted him ; 
I being only fit to live a stale, 
A bawd and property to your wantonness. 

Ee-enter Stkphano. 

Steph, Signior Francisco, sir, but even now 
Took horse without the ports. 

Marc. We are both abused. 
And both by him undone. Stay, death, a little, 
Till I have clear'd me to my lord, and then 
I willingly obey thee. — O my Sforza ! 
Francisco was not tempted, but the tempter ; 
And, as he thought to win me, shew'd the warrant 
That you sign*d for my death. 

Sfor, Then I believe thee ; 
Believe thee innocent too. 

Marc. But, being contemn'd. 
Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me, 
Not to reveal it ; I, soft-hearted fool. 
Judging his penitence true, was won unto it : 
Indeed, the unkindness to be sentenced by yoa. 
Before that I was guilty in a thought. 
Made me put on a seeming anger towards yon, 
And now — behold the issue ! As I do, 
May heaven forgive you ! [IKet. 

Tib, Her sweet soul has left 
Her beauteous prison. 

Steph, Look to the duke ; he stands 
As if he wanted motion. 

Tib, Grief hath stopp'd 
The oi^an of his speech. 

Steph. Take up this body, 
And call for his physicians. 

Sfor, O my heart-sirings ! iXxeunt. 


SCENE l.^The Milanesb. A Room in 
Eugenia's House. 

Sntet FiUNCisoo, and Eooknia in male attire. 

Fran. Why, conldst thou think, Eugenia, that 
GrmeeSy or faTonn, though strew'd thick npon me, 
Could erer brihe me to forget mine honour ? 
Or that I tamely would lit down, before 
I had dried these eyes still wet with showers of tears, 
By the fire of my revenge ? look up, my dearest ! 
For that proud fair, that, thief-like, stepp'd be- 
Tliy promised hopes, and robb'd thee of a fortune 
Ahnoit in thy possession, hath/ound, 
With horrid proof, his love, she thought her glory, 
And an aaturanoe of all happiness, 
Bat hastened her sad ruin. 

Euff. Do not flatter 
A grief that is beneath it ; for, however 
The credulous duke to me proved false and cruel, 
It is impossible he could be wrought 
To look on her, but with the eyes of dotage. 
And so to serve her. 

Fran, Such, indeed, I grant. 
The stream of his affection was, and ran 
A constant course, till I, with cunning malice — 
And yet I wrong my act, for it was justice, 
Made it turn backward ; and hate, in extremes, 
(Love banish'd from his heart,) to fill the room : 
In a word, know the fair Marcelia*s dead. 

Bug. Dead! 

Fran. And by Sforza's hand. Does it not move 
How coldly you receive it ! I expected [you ? 

The mere relation of so great a blessing. 
Borne proudly on the wings of sweet revenge, 
Wonld have callM on a sacrifice of thanks, 
And joy not to be bounded or conceal'd. 
You entertain it with a look, as if 
You vrish'd it were undone. 

Fug. Indeed I do : 
For, if my sorrows could receive addition. 
Her sad fate would increase, not lessen them. 
She never injured me, but entertain'd 
A fortune humbly offerM to her hand, 
Which a vrise lady gladly would have kneel'd for. 
Unless yon wonld impute it as a crime, 
She was more fiur than I, and had discretion 
Not to deliver up her virgin fort. 
Though strait besieged with flatteries, vows, and 

Until the church had made it safe and lawful. 
And had I been the mistress of her judgment 
And constant temper, skilful in the knowledge 
Of man's malicious falsehood, I had never. 
Upon his hell-deep oaths to marry me, 
Given up my fair name, and my maiden honour. 
To his foul lust ; nor lived now, being branded 
In the forehead for his whore, the scorn and shame 
Of all good women. 

Fran. Have you then no gall. 
Anger, or spleen, familiar to your sex ? 
Or is it possible, that you could see 
Another to possess what was your due, 
And not grow pale with envy ? 

Fug. Yes, of him 
That did deceive me. There's no passion, that 

A maid so injured ever could partake of. 

But I have dearly suffer'd. These three yean. 

In my desire and labour of revenge, 

Trusted to you, I have endured the throes 

Of teeming women ; and will hazard all 

Fate can inflict on me, but I will reach 

Thy heart, false Sforsa ! You have trifled with me. 

And not proceeded with that fiery zeal 

I look'd for from a brother of your spirit. 

Sorrow forsake me, and all signs of grief 

Farewell for ever I Vengeanoe, arm'd with fury, 

Possess me wholly now I 

Fran. The reason, sister. 
Of this strange metamorphosis ? 

Eug. Ask thy fears : 
Thy base, unmanly fears, thy poor delays, 
Thy dull forgetfulness equal vrith death ; 
My wrong, else, and the scandal which can never 
Be wash'd off from our house, but in his blood. 
Would have stirr'd up a coward to a deed 
In which, though he had fallen, the brave intent 
Had crown'd itself with a fair monument 
Of noble resolution. In this shape 
I hope to get access ; and, then, with shame, 
Hearing my sudden execution, judge 
What honour thou hast lost, in being transcended 
By a weak woman. 

Fran. Still mine own, and dearer ! 
And yet in this you but pour oil on fire. 
And offer your assistance where it needs not. 
And, that you may perceive I lay not fallow. 
But had your wrongs stamp'd deeply on my heart 
By the iron pen of vengeance, I attempted, 
By whoring her, to cuckold him : that failing, 
I did begin his tragedy in her death, 
To which it served as prologue, and will make 
A memorable story of your fortunes 
In my assured revenge : Only, best sister. 
Let us not lose ourselves in the performance, 
By your rash undertaking ; we will be 
As sudden as you could wish. 

Eug. Upon those terms 
I yield myself and cause to be disposed of 
As you think fit. 

Enter a Servant. 

Fran. Thy purpose ? 

Serv. There 8 one Graccho, 
That foUow'd you, it seems, upon the track, 
Since you left Milan, that's importunate 
To have access, and will not be denied : 
His haste, he says, concerns you. 

Fran. Bring him to me. lExit Sorvaat. 

Though he hath laid an ambush for my life. 
Or apprehension, yet I will prevent him, 
And work mine own ends out. 

Enter Gracxtho. 

Grae. Now for my whipping ! 
And if I now outstrip him not, and catch him. 
And by a new and strange way too, hereafter 
I'll swear there are worms in my brains. lAtide. 

Fran. Now, my good Graccho ! 
We meet as 'twere by miracle. 

Grac. Love, and duty. 
And vigilance in me for my lord's safety. 
First taught me to imagine you were here, 
And then to fo'low vou. All's t^me forth, mv lord. 




That yon conld wish concealed. The dutchess' 

In the duke's rage put home, yet gave her leave 
To acquaint him with your practices, which your 
Did easily confirm. [flight 

Fran, This I expected ; 
But sure you come provided of good counsel, 
To help in my extremes. 

Grae, I would not hurt you. 

Fran, How ! hurt me ? such another word's thy 
Why, dar*st thou think it can fall in thy will, 
To outlive what I determine ? 

Grac. How he nwes me ! iJHde. 

Fran, Be brief; what brought thee hither ? 

Grac, Care to inform you 
You are a condemn'd man, pursued and sought for, 
And your head rated at ten thousand ducats 
To him that brings it. 

Fran, Very good. 

Grac, All passages 
Are intercepted, and choiee troops of horse 
Scour o'er the neighbour plains ; your picture sent 
To every state confederate with Milan : 
That, though I grieve to speak it, in my judgment, 
So thick your dangers meet, and run upon you, 
It is impossible you should escape 
Their curious search. 

Eug, Why, let us then turn Romans, 
And, falling by our own hands, mock their threats^ 
And dread^l preparations. 

Fran. 'Twould show nobly ; 
But that the honour of our full revenge 
Were lost in the rash action. No, Eugenia, 
Graccho is wise, my friend too, not my servant. 
And I dare trust him with my latest secret. 
We would, and thou must help us to perform it, 
First kill the duke — then, fall what can upon us I 
For injuries are writ in brassy kind Graccho, 
And not to be forgotten. 

Grac, He instructs me 
What I should do. lAHde, 

Fran, Whit's that ? 

Grac, I labour with 
A strong desire to assist you with my service ; 
And now I am deliver'd oft. 

Fran, I told you. — 
Speak, my oraculous Graccho. 

Grac, I have heard, sir. 
Of men in debt that, lay'd for by their creditor!, 
In all such places where it could be thought 
They would take shelter, chose, for sanctuary. 
Their lodgings underneath their creditors' noses. 
Or near ^at prison to which they were, design 'd, 
If apprehended ; confident that there 
They never should be sought for. 

Eng. 'Tis a strange one ! 

Fran, But what infer you from it ? 

Grac, This, my lord ; 
That, since all ways of your escape are stoppM, 
In Milan only, or, what's more, in the court, 
Whither it is presumed you dare not come, 
Conceal'd in some disguise, you may live safe. 

Fran. And not to be discover'd ? 

Grac, But by myself. 

Fran. By thee 1 Alas ! I know thee honest, 
And I will put thy counsel into act. 
And suddenly. Yet, not to be ungrateful 
For all thy loving travail to preserve me. 

What bloody end soe'er my stars appoint. 
Thou shalt be safe, good Graccho. — Who's within 
there ? • 
Grac, In the devil's name, what means he ! 

Enter Servants. 

Fran. Take my friend 
Into your custody, and bind him fast : 
I would not part with him. 
- Grac, My good lord. 

Fran. Dispatch : 
'Tis for your good, to keep you honest, Graccho : 
I would not have ten thousand ducats tempt you, 
Being of a soft and wax-like disposition. 
To play the traitor ; nor a foolish itch 
To be revenged for your late excellent whipping. 
Give you the opportunity to offer 
My head for satisfaction. Why, thou fool ! 
I can look through and through thee ! thy intents 
Appear to me as written in thy forehead. 
In plain and easy characters : and but that 
I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that sword 
That from a prince expects a scarlet dye, 
Thou now wert dead ; but live, only to pray 
For good success to crown my undertakings ; 
And then, at my return, perhaps, I'll free thee. 
To make me further sport. Away with him ! * 
1 will not hear a syllable. 

lExeunt Servants with Gaaccho. 
We must trust 
Ourselves, Eugenia ; and though we make use of 
The counsel of our servants, that oil spent. 
Like snuffs that do offend, we tread them out. — 
But now to our last scene, which we'll so carry. 
That few shall understand how 'twas begun. 
Till ail, with half an eye, may see 'tis done. 


SCENE II.— Milan. A Room in the Cattle, 
Enter Psscara, Tibcrio, and Stkphano. 

Pe$c. The like was never read of. 

Steph. In my judgment, 
To ail that shall but hear it, 'twill appear 
A most impossible fable. 

Tib. For Francisco, 
My wonder is the less, because there are 
Too many precedents of unthankful men 
Raised up to greatness, which have after studied 
The ruin of their makers. 

Steph. But that melancholy. 
Though ending in distraction, should work 
So far upon a man, as to compel him 
To court a thing that has nor sense nor being. 
Is unto me a miracle. 

Peic. 'Troth, I'll tell you. 
And briefly as I can, by what degrees 
He fell into this madness. When, by the care 
Of his physicians, he was brought to life, 
As he had only pass'd a fearful dream, 
And had not acted what I grieve to think on. 
He call'd for fair Marcelia, and being told 
That she was dead, he broke forth in extremes, 
(I would not say blasphemed,) and cried that 

For all the offences that mankind could do, 
Would never be so cruel as to rob it 
Of so much sweetness, and of so much goodness ; 
That not alone was sacred in herself. 
But did preserve all others innocent. 




That hmd but coiiTene with her. Then it came 

Into his fancy that she was accused 

By his mother and his sister ; thrice he curs'd 

And thrioe his desperate hand was on his sword 
T'hBTe kill'd them both ; but he restrained, and 

Shunning his ftiry, spite of all prerention 
He woald ha^e tum'd his rage upon himself ; 
When wisely his physicians, looking on 
The Datchess' wound, to stay his ready hand, 
Cried crat, it was not mortal. 

Tib, 'Twas well thought on. 

Pe$e. He easily believing what he wish'd, 
More ttian a perpetuity of pleasure 
In any object else ; flatter'd by hope, 
Pbi^g^ting his own greatness, he fell prostrate 
At the doctors' feet, implored their aid, and swore, 
Pronded they recoTcr^d her, he would live 
A private man, and they should share his duke- 
Thiey seem'd to promise fair, and every hour [dom. 
Vary their judgments, as they find his fit 
To soffer intermission or extremes : 
For his behaviour since 

S/or. IwUhin.] As you have pity. 
Support her gently. 

Pete, Now, be your own witnesses ; 
I am prerented. 

EiUer BnmMA, Isabblla, MARiAif a, Doctors, and Servants 
with the bodjf of MARcaLiA. 

Sfoir, Carefully, I beseech you, 
Tlie gentlest touch torments her ; and then think 
What I shall suffer. O you earthly gods. 
Yon second natures, that from your great master. 
Who join'd the limbs of torn HippoUtus, 
And drew upon himself the Thunderer's envy, 
Are taught those hidden secrets that restore 
To life death-wounded men ! you have a patient. 
On whom to express the excellence of art, 
Will bind even heaven your debtor, though it 

To make your hands the organs of a work 
The saints will smile to look on, and good angels 
Clap their celestial wings to give it plaudits. 
How pale and wan she looks! O pardon me. 
That 1 presume (dyed o'er with bloody guilt, 
Which makes me, I confess, far, far unworthy) 
To touch this snow-white hand. How cold it is I 
This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still 
'Tis so to me. How slow her pulses beat too ! 
Yet in this temper, she is all perfection, 
And mistress of a heat so full of sweetness. 
The blood of virgins, in their pride of youth. 
Are balls of snow or ice compared unto her. 

Mari. Is not this strange ? 

I»ab. Oh I cross him not, dear daughter ; 
Our conscience tells us we have been abused. 
Wrought to accuse the innocent, and wiih Lim 
Are guilty of a fact 

BnUr a Servant, and vhispert Pbscara. 

Mori, 'Tis aow past help. 

Pete, With me ? What is he ? 

Serv. He has a strange aspect ; 
A Jew by birth, and a physician 
By his profession, as he says, who, hearing 
Of the duke*8 frenzy, on the forfeit of 
His life ^ iU undertake to render him 

Perfect in everj- part : — provided that 
Your lordshio'R favour crain him free i 


And your power with the duke a safe protection, 
Till the great work be ended. 

Peto. Bring me to him ; 
As I find cause I'll do. lExeunt Past, and Serv. 

S/or, How sound she sleeps ! 

Heaven keep her from a lethargy ! How long 

(But answer me with comfort, I beseech you) 
Does your sure judgment tell you that these lids. 
That cover richer jewels than themselves, 
Like envious night, will bar these glorious suns 
From shining on me ? 

1 Doct. We have given her, sir, 

A sleepy potion, that will hold her long, 
That she may be less sensible of the torment 
The searching of her wound will put her to. 

2 Doct, She now feels little ; but if we shouM 

wake her. 
To hear her speak would fright both us and you. 
And therefore dare not hasten it. 

S/or, I am patient. 
You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure. 
What do you think she dreams of now ? for sure. 
Although her body's organs are bound fast. 
Her fancy cannot slumber. 

1 Doct, That, sir, looks on 
Your sorrow for your late rash act, with pity 
Of what you suffer for it, and prepares 
To meet the free confession of your guilt 
With a glad pardon. 

Sfor, She was ever kind ; 
And her displeasure, though call'd on, short-lived 
Upon the least submission. O you Powers, 
That can convey our thoughts to one another 
Without the aid of eyes or ears, assist me ! 
Let her behold me in a pleasing dream L^**^'. 
Thus, on my knees before her ; (yet that duty 
In me is not sufficient ;) let her see me 
Compel my mother, from whom I took life. 
And this my sister, partner of my being. 
To bow thus low unto her ; let her hear us 
In my acknowledgment freely confess 
That we in a degree as high are guilty 
As she is innocent. Bite your tongues, vile 

And let your inward horror fright your souls. 
For having belied that pureness, to come near 
All women that posterity can bring forth [whicli. 
Must be, though striving to be good, poor rivals. 
And for that dog Francisco, that seduced me. 
In wounding her, to rase a temple built 
To chastity and sweetness, let her know 
I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him. 
And there live a fourth Fury to torment him. 
Then, for this cursed hand and arm that guided 
The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint. 
With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat, 
I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion ; 

1 Doct, You are too loud, sir ; you disturb 
Her sweet repose. 

Sfor, I am hush'd. Yet give us leave. 
Thus prostrate at her feet, our eyes bent down* 

Unworthy, and ashamed, to look upon her. 
To expect her gracious sentence. 

2 Doct, He's past hope. 

1 Doct. The body too will putrify, and then 
We can no longer cover the imposture. 

Tib, Which, in his death, will quickly be dis- 
I can but weep his fortune. f cover'd 




Steph, Yetbecarefol 
Yoa loce no miDute to preserve Um ; time 
May lessen his distraction. 

B»<nter Pbscaba, with FnAMciaoo, at a JewdoeUr, mmd 
EuoBNiA duffuiud as before, 

Fran, I am no god, sir, 
To giye a new life to ber ; yet Til haxard 
My head, I'll work the senseless tmnk f appear 
To him as it had got a second being, 
Or that the sooi that's fled from't, were caU'd 

To goTem it again. I will presenre it 
In the first sweetness, and by a strange Taponr, 
Which I'll infose into her month, create 
A. seeming breath ; I'll make her veins mn high 

As if they had true motion. 

Pete, Do but this. 
Till we nse means to win upon his passions 
T'endore to hear she^s dead with aome small 

And make thy own reward* 

/'row. The art I nse 
Admits no looker on : I only ask 
The fourth part of an honr, to perfect thai 
( boldly nndertakeu 

Peee, I will procure it. 

2 Deci. What strainer's this } 

Peee. Sooth me in all 1 say ; 
There's a main end in it 

Fran, Beware ! 

Euff. I am wam'd. 

Pete, Look up, sir, cheerfully ; comfort in me 
Flows strongly to yon. 

S(for, From whence came that sonnd ? 
Was it from my Marcelia ? If it were, IJUut, 
I rise, and joy will give me wings to meet it. 

Pete, Nor shall yoor expectation be deferr'd 
But a few minutes. Your physicians are 
Mere Toice, and no performance ; I have found 
A man that can do wonders. Do not hinder 
The dutchess' wish'd recovery, to enquire 
Or what he is, or to give thanks, but leave him 
To work this miracle. 

Sfor, Sure, 'tis my good angel. 
I do obey in all things : be it death 
For any to disturb him, or come near, 
Till he be pleased to call us. O, be prosperous, 
And make a duke thy bondman ! 

IMxeuni all &ul FmAnatoo and EuoamA. 

Ffwt. 'Tis my purpose ; 
If that to fall a long^wish'd sacrifice 
To my revenge can be a benefit. 
I'll first make fast the doors ;— so 1 

Buif, You amase me : 
What follows now ? 

Frtm, A full conclusion 
Of all thy wishes. Look on this, Eugenia, 
Even sndi a thing, the proudest fiur on earth 
(For whose delight the elements are ransack'd. 
And art with nature studied to preserve her,) 
Must be, when she is summon'd to appear 
In the court of Death. But I lose time. 

Eug, What mean yon ? 

Fran. Disturb me noL — ^Your ladyship looks 
But I, your doctor, have a ceruse for you. — 
See, my Eugenia, how many faces, 
Th^ are adored in court, borrow thase helps, 

iPaimU Uu clkMJkf. 

And pass for excellence, when the better part 
Of them are like to this. — Your mouth smells sour 
But here is that shall take away the scent ; [too, 
A precious antidote old ladies use, 
W^hen they would kiss, knowing their gums are 
rotten. IPaintg the iip$ 

These hands too, that disdain'd to take a touch 
From any lip, whose owner writ not lord. 
Are now but as the coarsest earth ; but I 
Am at the charge, my bill not to be paid too, 
To give them seeming beauty. IPainU the hands.] 

— So ! 'tis done. 
How do you like my workmanship ? 

Eug. I tremble : 
And thus to tyrannize upon the dead. 
Is most inhuman. 

Frmn. Come we for revenge. 
And can we think on pity ! Now to the upshot. 
And, as it proves, applaud it. — My lord the duke ! 
Enter with joy, and see the sudden change 
Your servant's hand hath wrought 


Re<nUr BeotmA and Uu rtst. 

Sfor, I five again 
In my full confidence that Marcelia may 
Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet ? 

Fran, No : 
You must not look for all your joys at once ; 
That will ask longer time. 

Pete. 'Tis wondrous strange ! 

S(for, By all the dues of love I have had fh)m 
This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it 
These lips invite too : I could ever feed 
Upon these roses, they still keep their colour 
And native sweetness : only the nectar's wanting, 
That, like the morning dew in flowery May, 
Preserved them in thdr beauty. 

filter Graocbo hastily, 

Grae. Treason, treason ! 

7^. Call up the guard. 

Fran, Graocho ! then we are lost. 


Enter Guard. 

Gnoe. I am got off, sir Jew ; a bribe hath done 
For all your serious charge ; there's no disguise [it. 
Can keep you from my knowledge. 

Sfor, Speak. 

Grae. I am out of breath, 
But this is 

Fran, Spare thy labour, fool, — Francisco. 

AIL Monster of men ! 

Fran. Give me afi attributes 
Of all you can imagine, yet I glory 
To be the thing I was bom. I am Francisco ; 
Francisco, that was raised by you, and made 
The minion of the time ; the same Francisco, 
That would have whored this trunk when it had 
And, after, breathed a jealousy upon thee, [life ; 
As killing as those damps that belch out plagues 
When the foundation of the earth is shaken : 
I made thee do a deed heaven will not pardon. 
Which was — to kill an innocent 

S(for. Call forth the tortures 
For all that flesh can feel. 

Fran, I dare the worst 
Only, to yield some reason to the world 
Why I pursued this course, look on this fece. 
Made old by thy base falsehood : 'tis Eugenia. 




lOflir. Eugenia! 

Fran. Dom it start you, fir ? my filter, 
Biiiiiril md fbol'd by thee: bat thou miut pay 
Tte ivrfeit of tiiy fklsehood. Does it not work 

Wbite'er becones of me, which I esteem not, 
Tbou art marli'd for the grave : I've given thee 

la ^n cop, now observe me, which, thy hist 
CaroQsing cieeply of, made thee forget 
Thy vow'd faith to Eugenia. 

Pete. O damn'd villain ! 

/mI. How do yon, sir ? 

Slftr, Like one 
Tkst karas to know in death what punishment 
Wsits on the breach of faith. Oh ! now 1 feel 
An £tiia in my entrails. — I have lived 
k prinee, and my last breath shall be command. 
—I bom, I bom ! yet ere life be consumed. 
Let me pronoonce upon this wretch all torture 
TWt witty cruelty can invent. 

?CMs. Away with Mm ! 

JU. In all things we will serve you* 

Fran, Farewell, sister ! 
Now I have kept my word, torments I soora : 
I leave the world with glory. They are men, 
And leave behind them name and memory. 
That, wrong*d, do right themselves before they die 

IBxeunt Guard wUk Fkahcisoo. 

Sleph. A desperate wretch ! 

Slfor, I come : Death ! 1 obey thee. 
Yet I will not die raging ; for, alas ! 
My whole life was a frensy. Good Eugenia, 
In death forgive me. — As you love me, bear her 
To some religions house, there let her spend 
The remnant of her life : when I am ashes. 
Perhaps she'll be appeased, and spare a prayer 
For my poor soul. Bury me with Marcelia, 
And let our epitaph be-- — ^Diei 

T*ib, His speech is stopp'd. 

Steph, Already dead ! 

Peso. It is in vain to labour 
To call him back. We'll give him funeral, 
And. then determine of the state affHirs : 
And learn, from this example, There's no trust 
In s foundation that is bmlt on lust. lExeuni 





RiOBT HoNoumABLB.—IIoweTer I could nerer arrire at the happinen to be made known to your lordship, jet a 
dealre, bom with me, to make a tender of all duties and eenrice to the noble family of the Herberts, descended tit me 
aa an inheritance from my dead &ther, Arthur Massinger. Many years he happily spent in the service of your 
honourable house, and died a servant to it ; leaving his to be ever mo»t glad and ready, to be at the command of all 
auoh as derive themselves from his most h<nioured master, your Iordship*s most noble father. The consideration of 
this encouraged me (having no other means to present my humblest service to your honour) to shroud this trifle under 
the wings of jrour noble protection ; and I hope, out of the clemency of your heroic diqxMition, it will find, though 
perhaps not a welcome entertainment, yet, at the worst, a gracious pardon. \Vhai it was first acted, jrour lordhbip's 
liberal suffrage taught others te allow it for current, it having received the undoubted stamp of your lordship's 
allowance : and if in the perusal of any vacant hour, when your honour's more serious occasions shall give you leaw tc 
rsad it, it answv. In your lordship's judgment, the report and opinion it had upon the stage, I shall esteem my labours 
not ill employed, and, while I live, continue 

The humblest of those that truly boooor jonr lordifeip^ 

PHIUF MAwanraaa. 


TmoLBON, the Oenerai, </ Corinth, 

AacHinAMUS, Pr<r(or qf Sifrticuia, 

DiPHiLus, a Senator of Spraaua. 

GLBo.'t, a /it impot4Ht Lord. 

Marullo, the Bondman ({. e. PiaANDBa, a Om- 

tletnan of Thebes ; ditguUed at a Slave}. 
FoupuRON, Friend to Maeullo ; aUo ditguiitd 

a* a Slave, 
LaoeTBSNBS, a Oentletnan 4/ Sfraeuta^ ena- 

moured of Clbora. 
Amotus, a foolish Lover, and the Son qf Cubon. 
TiMAOoaAa, the Son of Akcrioajius. 

Gracculo, ) _ 

ClMBRIO. (^«««' 

A Gaoler. 

Clxora, Daughter of AacBrDAinTB. 

C0RI8CA, a proud wanton Ladjft Wif^ to Clbon. 

OLvuptA, a rich Widow. 

TiMANORA, Slave to Clkora (<. e. 9rATii.tA, Sister 


Zantuia, Slave to Corisca. 

Other Slavea, Soldiers, OflScers, Senaton, 

SCENE, — Stracu?b, and the adjacent Country. 


SCENE I. — The Camp cf Timoleon, near 


Enter Timaooras emd LwMTHSifBa. 

Timag. Why ahould you droop, Leostheoes, or 
My sister's favour ? What, before, you purchased 
By courtship and fair hinguage, in these wars 
(For from her soul you know she loves a soldier) 
You may deserve by action. 

Leost. Good Timagoras^ 
When I have said my friend, think all is spoken 
That may assure me yours ; and pray you believe, 
The dreadful voice of war that shakes the city. 
The thundering threats of Carthage, nor their army 

Raised to make good those threats, affright not 

If fair Cleora were confirmed his prize, [me. — 

That has the strongest arm and sharpest sword, 

Vd court Bellonain her horrid trim. 

As if she were a mistress ; and bless fortune. 

That offers my young valour to the proof. 

How much I dare do for your sister's love. 

But, when that I consider how averse 

Your noble father, great Archidamus, 

Is, and hath ever been, to my desires. 

Reason may warrant me to doubt and fear, 

What seeds soever I sow in these wars 

Of noble courage, his determinate will 

May blast, and give my harvest to another, 

That never toil*d for «L 

Timag, Prithee, do not nourish 
These jealous thoughts ; I am thine, (and pardon 
Though 1 repeat it,) thy Timagoras. [me, 

That, for thy suke, when the bold Theban sued, 
Far-famed i^sinnder, for my sister's love, 
Sent him disgraced and discontented home. 
I wrought my father then ; and I, that stopp'd not 
In the career of my afleotion to thee. 
When that renowned worthy, that, brought with 

High birth, wealth, courage, as fee'd advocates 
To mediate for him ; never will consent 
A fool, that only has the shn|>e of man, 
Asotus, though he be rich Cleon's heir, 
Shall bear htr from thee. 

Least, In that trust I love. 

Timag. Which never shall deceive you. 
Enter Marullo. 

Mar, Sir, the general, 
Tlmoleon, by his trumpets hath given warning 
For a remove. 

Timag. Tis well ; provide my horse. 

Mar. I shall, sir. lExit. 

Least. This slave has a strange aspect. 

T^imag. Fit for his fortune ; tis a strong-limb'd 
knave : 
j/lj father bought him for my sister's litter. 
O pride of women ! Coaches are too common — 
They surfeit in the happiness of peace, 
And ladies think they keep not state enough. 
If, for their pomp and ease, they are not bom 
In triumph on men's shoulders. 

Least. Who commands 
The Carthaginian fleet ? 

Timag. Cisco's their admiral, 
And 'tis our happiness ; a raw young fellow. 
One never train'd in arms, but rather fashion'd 
To tilt vrith ladies' lips, than crack a lance ; 
Ravish a feather from a mistress' fan. 
And wear it as a favour. A steel helmet, 
Made horrid with a glorious plume, will crack 
His woman's neck. 

Least. No more of him ^The motives, 

That Corinth gives us aid ? 

Timag. The common danger ; 
For Sicily being afire, she is not safe : 
It being apparent that ambitious Carthage, 
That, to enlarge her empire, strives to fasten 
An unjust gripe on us that live free lords 
Of Syracusa, will not end, till Greece 
Acknowledge her their sovereign. 

Least. I am satisfied. 
What think you of our general ? 

Timag. He's a man ITrvmpfU within. 

Of strange and reserved parts ; but a great soldier. 
His truni{»ets call us, I'll forbear his character : 
To-morrow, in the senate-house, at large 
He will express himself. 

Least, I'll follow you. lExeunL 

Carts, Deny me ! by my honour. 
You take no pity on me. I shall swoon 
As soon as you are absent ; ask my nmn else, 
You know he dares not tell a lie. 

Grac. Indeed, 
Yon are no sooner out of sight, but she 
Does feel strange qualms; then sends for her 

young doctor, 
Who ministers physic to her on her back. 
Her ladyship lying as she were entranced : 
(I've peep'd in at the keyhole, and observed them :) 
And sure bis potions never fail to work. 
For she's so pleasant in the taking them, 
She tickles again. 

Caris, And all's to make you merry, 
When you come home. 

Clean, You flatter me ; I am old, 
And wisdom cries. Beware 1 

Caris. Old ! duck. To me 
You are a young Adonis. 

Grae, Well said, Venus ! 
I am sure she Vulcans him. {Asidt 

Caris. I will not change thee 
For twenty boisterous young things without beards 
These bristles give the gentlest titillations, 
And such a sweet dew flows on them, it cures 
My lips without pomatum. Here's a round belly 1 
'Tis a down pillow to my bank ; I sleep 
So quietly by it : and this tunable nose. 
Faith, when you hear it not, afibrds sudi music, 
That I curse all night-fiddlers. 

Grae, This is gross. 
Not finds she flouts him I \,Asids. 

Caris, As I live, I am jealous. 

Clean, Jealous of me, wife ? 

Caris, Yes ; and I have reason ; 
Knowing how lusty and active a man you are. 

Clean, Hum, hum ! 

Grao, This is no cunning quean ! 'slight, sh 
will make him 
To think that, like a stag, he has cast his horns, 
And is grown young again. lAsidt 

Caris. You have forgot 
What you did in your sleep, and, when you waked, 
Call'd for a caudle. 

Grac. It was in his sleep ; 
For, waking, I durst trust my mother with him. 


Caris. I long to see the man of war : Cleora, 
Archidamus' daughter, goes, and rich Olympia ; 
I will not miss the show. 

Clean. There's no contending : 
For this time I am pleased, but I'll no more on't. 


SCENE II. — Syracuse. A Roam in Clbon's 

Enter Clkoh, Coridca, and Graoculo. 

Caris, Nay, good chuck. 

Clean. I've said it ; stay at home : 
I cannot brook your gadding ; you're a fair one. 
Beauty invites temptations, and short heeU 
Are soon tripp'd up. 

SCENE III.— The same. The SenaU -house. 

Enter Abchioamus, Clim>x, DrraiLus, Olvmpia, Om>isca, 
Clkora, and Zai«thia. 

Archid, So careless we have been, my noble lords, 
In the disposing of our own affairs, 
And ignorant in the art of government, 
That now we need a stranger to instruct us. 
Yet we are hnppy that our neighbour Corinth* 
Pitying the unjust gripe Carthage would lay 
On Syracusa, hath vouchsafed to lend ua 
Her man of men, Timoleon, to defend 
Our country and our liberties. 

Diph. 'Tis a favour 




We are unworthy of, and we may bloah 
Necessity compels os to receiye it. 

ArohuL O shame I that we, that are a popnlons 
Engaged to libera] natnre, for all blessings 
An islaad can bring forth ; we, that have limbs. 
And able bodies ; shipping, arms, and treasure. 
The sinews of the war, now we are call'd 
To stand upon our guard, cannot produce 
One fit to be our general. 

CUon. I am old and fat ; 
I could say something, else. 

Arehid, We must obey 
The time and onr occasions ; ruinous buildings. 
Whose bases and foundations are infirm, 
Must use supporters : we are circled round 
WiUi danger ; o'er our heads, with sail-stretch'd 

Destruction hoTers, and a cloud of mischief 
Ready to break upon us ; no hope left us 
That may divert it, but our sleeping Tirtoe, 
Roused up by braye Timoleon. 

Clean, When arrlTes he ? 

Diph, He is expected every hour. 

ArehitU The braveries 
Of Syracusa, among whom my son« 
Tlmagoras, Leosthenes, and Asotus, 
Your hopdful heir, lord Cleon, two days since 
Rode forth to meet him, and attend bun to 
The city ; every minute we expect 
To be bless'd with his presence. 

ISfumU within g thm aJUmriA <tfirumpeit» 

Cleon. What shout's this ? 

Diph. 'Tis seconded with loud music. 

Arehid. Which confirms 
His wish'd*f6r entranoe. Let us entertain him 
With aU respect, soleaonity, and pomp, 
A man may merit, that comes to redeem ns 
From slavery and oppression. 

Cleon. I'll lock up 
My doors, and guard my gold: these lads of 

Have nimble fingers, and I fiear them more, 
Being within our waUs, than those of Carthage ; 
They are far off. 

Arehid. And, ladies, be it your care 
To welcome him and his foUowers with all duty : 
For rest resolved, their hands and swords must 

keep you 
In that full height of happiness you live ; 
A dreadful change else follows. 

lExetmi AncHiOAMUt, Ci*bon, and Diphius. 

Olymp. We are instructed. 

Corit. I'll kiss him for the honour of my country. 
With any she in Corinth. 

Olymp, Were he a courtier, 
I've sweetmeat in my closet shall content him, 
Be his palate ne'er so curious. 

Corie. And, if need be, 
I have a couch and a banqueting-house in my 

Where many a man of honour has not scom'd 
To spend an afternoon. 

Otpmp. These men of war. 
As I have heard, know not to court a lady. 
They cannot praise our dressings, kiss our hands. 
Usher ns to onr litters, tell love-stories. 
Commend onr fioet and legs, and so search up* 

A sweet becoming boldness ! the? are roush. 

Boisterous, and saucy, and at the first sight 
Ruffle and touae us, and, as they find their stomachs. 
Fall roundly to it. 

Corie. 'Troth, I like them the better : 
I can*t endure to have a perfumed sir 
Stand cringing in the hams, licking his lips 
Like a spaniel over a furmenty-pot, and yet 
Has not the boldness to come on, or offer 
What they know we expect. 

Ofymp. We may commend 
A gentleman's modesty, manners, and fine lan- 
His singing, dancing, riding of great horses. 
The wearing of his clothes, his fair com|)lexion ; 
Take presents from him, and extol hus bounty : 
Yet, though he observe, and waste bis estate upon 
If he be staunch, and bid not for the stock [us 
That we were bom to traffic with ; the truth is. 
We care not for his company. 

Corie. Musing, Cleora? 

Olymp. She's studying how to entertain these 
And to engross them to herself. [strangers, 

Cleo. No, surely ; 
I will not cheapen any of their wares. 
Till you have made your market ; you will buy, 
I know, at any rate. 

Corie. She has given it you. 

Olymp. No more ; they come : the first kiss for 
this jeweL 

FUmrith ttf trumpets. Enter Timaoorab, Lkocthkxks, 
AaoTOB, TiMOLBON in black, ltd in hjf AiicHiiiA>irii, 
DiPHiLUS, and Cueon ; foUwetd by )1aruux>, Grac- 
cuLO, CuiBRio, and of her Slave*. 

Arehid. It is your seat : which, with a general 
suffrage, {Offering Timolmik the itaU. 

As to the supreme magistrate, Sicily tenders, 
And prays l^moleon to accept. 

TimoL Such honours 
To one ambitious of rule or titles. 
Whose heaven on earth is placed in his command. 
And absolute power o'er others, would with joy, 
And veins swollen high with pride, be entertain M. 
They take not me ; for I have ever loved 
An equal freedom, and proclaimed all such 
As would usurp on others' liberties. 
Rebels to nature, to whose bounteous blessings 
All men lay claim as true legitimate sons : 
But such as have made forfeit of themselves 
By vicious courses, and their birthright lost 
'Tis not injustice they are mark'd for slaves. 
To serve the virtuous. . For myself, I know 
Honours and great employments are great bur- 
And must require an Atlas to support them. 
He that would govern others, first should be 
The master of bdmself, richly eudued 
With depth of understanding, height of courage, 
And those remarlcable graces whi(^ I dare not 
Ascribe unto myself. 

Arehid. Sir, empty men 
Are trumpets of their own deserts ; but you, 
That are not in opinion, but in proof, 
Really good, and full of glorious parts. 
Leave the report of what you are to fame ; 
Which, from the ready tongues of all good meut 
Aloud proclaims you. 

DijA. Besides, yon stand bound, 
Haring so large a field to exercise 
Your active virtues offer'd you, to impart 
Your strength to such as need it. 

mmsE in. 



THmol. TU confess'd : 
And, since you'll have it so, such as I am. 
For you* and for the liberty of Greece, 
I am most ready to lay down my life : 
But yet consider, men of Syracusa, 
Before that you deliver up the power. 
Which yet is yours, to me, — to whom 'tis given ; 
To an impartial man, with whom nor threats, 
Nor prayers, shall prevail ; for 1 must steer 
An even course. 

Arehid, Which is desired of all. 

THmol. Timophanes, my brother, for whose 
I am tainted in the world, and fonlly tainted ; 
In whose remembrance I have ever worn. 
In peace and war, this livery of sorrow, 
Can witness for me how much I detest 
Tyrannous usurpation. With grief, 
I must remember it ; for, when no persuasion 
Could win him to desist from his bad practice. 
To change the aristocracy of Corinth 
Into an absolute monarchy, I chose rather 
To prove a pious and obedient son 
To my country, my best mother, than to lend 
Assistance to Timophanes, though my brother, 
That, like a tyrant, strove to set his foot 
Upon the city's freedom. 

Timag. 'Twns a deed 
Deserving rather trophies than reproof. 

Leoti. And will be still remember'd to your 
If you forsake not us. [honour, 

Diph. If you free Sicily 
From barbarous Carthage yoke, it will be said. 
In him you slew a tyrant. 

Arehid, But, giving way 
To her invasion, not vouchsafing us 
That tiy to your protection, aid and comfort, 
'Twill be believed, that, for your private ends. 
You kill'd a brother. 

Timol, As I then proceed. 
To all posterity may that act be crown 'd 
With a deserved applause, or branded with 
The mark of infamy ! — Stay yet ; ere I take 
This seat of justice, or engage myself 
To fight for you abroad, or to reform 
Your state at home, swear all upon my sword. 
And call the gods of Sicily to witness 
The oath you take, that whatsoe'er 1 shall 
Propound for safety of your coraiuonwealth. 
Not circumscribed or bound in, shall by you 
lie willingly obey'd. 

Arehid. Diph. Cieon. So may we prosper, 
As we obey in all things ! 

Timag. Leost. Atfol, And observe 
All your commands as oracles ! 

Timol. Do not ropent it. ITakes the ttaU. 

Olymp. He ask'd not our consent. 

Cori*. He's a clown, I warrant him. 

Olymp. I ofTer'd myself twice, and yet the churl 
Would not salute me. 

Coris, Let him kiss his drum ! 
I'll Rave my lips, I rest on it. 

Olymp He thinks women 
No part of the republic. 

Coris. He shall find 
We* are a commonwealth. 

Cleo. The less your honour. 

Timol. First, then, a word or two, but without 
< Kt\A ypt misfak* me not, I am no flatterer,) 

Concerning your ill government of the state ; 
In which the greatest, noblest, and most rich. 
Stand, in the first file, guilty. 

Cleim. Ha! how's this? 

Timoi. You have not, as good patriots shoiiid 
do, studied 
The public good, but your particular ends ; 
Factious among yourselves, preferring such 
To offices and honours, as ne'er read 
The elements of saving policy ; 
But deeply skill'd in il the principles 
That usher to destruction. 

Leost, Sharp! 

TWnag. The better. 

Timol, Your senate-house, which used not *jo 
A man, however popular, to stand [admit 

At the helm of government, whose youth was nol 
Made slorious by action ; whose experience. 
Crown d with gray hairs, gave warrant to his 

Heard and received with reverence, is now fill*d 
With green heads, that determine of the state 
Over their cups, or when their sated lusts 
Afibrd them leisure ; or supplied by those 
Who, rising from base arts and soniid thrift, 
Are eminent for their wealth, not for their wisdoait 
Which is the reason that to hold a place 
In council, which was once esteem'd an honour. 
And a reward for virtue, hath quite lost 
Lustre and reputation, and is made 
A mercenary purchase. 

Timag. He speaks home. 

Leoti, And to the purpose. 

Timol, From whence it proceeds. 
That the treasure of the city is engrossed 
By a few private men, the public coffers 
Hollow with want ; and they, that will not spare 
One talent for the common good, to feed 
The pride and bravery of their wives, consume, 
lu pLate, and jewels, and superfluous slaves. 
What would maintain an army. 

Coris, Have at us ! 

Olymp, We thought wq were forgot. 

Cleo. But it appears, 
You will be treated of. 

Timol, Yet, in this plenty, 
And fat of peace, your young men ne'er were 

In martial discipline ; and your ships unrigg'd. 
Rot in the harbour : no defence prepared, 
But thought unuseful ; as if that the gods. 
Indulgent to your sloth, hath granted you 
A perpetuity of pride and pleasure, 
No change fear'd or expected. Now you find 
That Carthage, looking on your stupid sleeps. 
And dull security, was invited to 
Invade your territories. 

Arehid. You have made us see, sir. 
To our shame, the country's sickness : now, from 
As from a careful and a wise physician, [you 

We do expect the cure. 

Timol. Old fester'd sores 
Must be lanced to the quick, and cauterised ; 
Which born with patience, after I'll apply 
Soft unguents. For the maintenance of the war. 
It is decreed all monies in the hand 
Of private men, shall instantly be brought 
To the public treasury. 

Timag. This bites sore. 

Clcon. The cure 




Is worse than the disease ; I'll never yield to't : 

What could the enemy, though victorious, 

Inflict more on us ? All that my youth hath toil'd 

Purchased with industry, and preserved with care, 
Forced from me in a moment 1 

Diph, This rough course 
Will never be allow'd of. 

Timal, O blind men ! 
If you refuse the first means that is oifer'd 
To give you health, no hope's left to recover 
Your desperate sickness. Do you prize your muck 
Above your liberties ; and rather choose 
To be made bondmen, than to part with that 
To which already you are slaves ? Or can it 
Be probable in your flattering apprehensions, 
You can capitulate with the conquerors. 
And keep that yours which they come to possess. 
And, while you kneel in vain, will ravish from you? 
— But take your own ways ; brood upon your gold. 
Sacrifice to your idol, and preserve 
The prey entire, and merit the report 
Of careful stewards : yield a just account 
To your proud masters, who, with whips of iron, 
Will force you to give up what you conceal. 
Or tear it from your throats : aidom your walls 
With Persian hangings wrought of gold and pearl ; 
Cover the floors, on which they are to tread. 
With costly Median silks ? perfume the rooms 
With cassia and amber, where they are 
To feast and revel ; while, like servile grooms, 
You wait upon their trenchers : feed their eyes 
With massy plate, until your cupboards crack 
With the weight that they sustain ; set forth your 
And daughters in as many varied shapes [wives 
As there are nations, to provoke their lusts, 
And let them be embraced before your eyes. 
The object may content you ! and, to perfect 
Their entertainment, ofler up your sons* 
And able men, for slaves ; while you, that are 
Unfit for labour, are spurn'd out to starve, 
Un pitied, in some desert, no friend by. 
Whose sorrow may spare one compassionate tear, 
In the remembrance of what once you were. 

Leoti, The blood turns. 

Timag. Observe how old Cleon shakes, 
As if in picture he had shewn him what 
He was to suffer. 

Coris, 1 am sick ; the man 
Speaks poniards and diseases. 

Olymp. O my doctor ! 
I never shall recover. 

Cieo. [Coming forward.'^ If a virgin. 
Whose speech was ever yet usher'd with fear ; 
One knowing modesty and humble silence 
To be the choicest ornaments of our sex, 
In the presence of so many reverend men 
Struck dumb with terror and astonishment. 
Presume to clothe her thought hi vocal sounds. 
Let her find pardon. First to you, great sir, 
A bashful maid*s thanks, and her zealous prayers 
Wing'd with pure innocence, bearing them to hea- 
For all prosperity that the gods can give [ven, 
To one whose piety must exact their care, 
Thus low I ofier. 

TimoL 'Tis a happy omen. 
Rise, blest one, and speak boldly. On my virtue, 
I am thy warrant, from so clear a spring 
Sweet rivers ever flow. 

Cleo, Then, thus to you, 

My noble father, and these lords, to whom 
I next owe duty : no respect forgotten 
To you, my brother, and these bold young men, 
(Such I would have them,) that are, or should be, 
The city's sword and target of defence. 
To all of you I speak ; and, if a blush 
Steal on my cheeks, it is shown to reprove 
Your paleness, willingly I would not say, 
Your cowardice or fear : Think you all treasure 
Hid in the bowels of the earth, or shipwreck'd 
In Neptune's wat'ry kingdom, can hold weight. 
When liberty and honour fill one scale. 
Triumphant Justice sitting on the beam ? 
Or dare you but imagine diat your gold is 
Too dear a salary for such as hazard 
Their blood and lives in your defence ? For mc, 
An ignorant girl, bear witness, heaven ! so far 
I prize a soldier, that, to give him pay. 
With such devotion as our flamens offer 
Their sacrifices at the holy altar, 
I do lay down these jewels, will make sale 
Of my superfluous wardrobe, to supply 
The meanest of their wants. 
ILajft dmon kerjewelt, ^c. / the rat follow her example, 

Timol. Brave masculine spirit ! 

Diph. We are shown, to our shame, what we in 
Should have taught others. [honour 

Archid, Such a fair example 
Must needs be foUow'd. 

THmag. Ever my dear sister. 
But now our family's glory ! 

Leosi. Were she deform'd. 
The virtues of her mind would force a stoic 
To sue to be her servant 

Cleim. I must yield ; 
And though my heart-blood part with it, I will 
Deliver in my wealth. 

AMt. I would say something ; 
But, the truth is, I know not what* 

Timd. We have money ; 
And men must now be thought on. 

Archid, We can press 
Of labourers in the country, men inured 
To cold and heat, ten thousand. 

Diph. Or, if need be. 
Enrol our slaves, lusty and able varlets, 
And fit for service. 

Cleon, They shall go for me ; 
I will not pay and fight too. 

Cleo. How ! your slaves ? 

stain of honour ! Once more, sir, your 

pardon ; 
And, to their shames, let me deliver what 

1 know in justice you may speak. 

Titnol. Most gladly : 
I could not wish my thoughts a better organ 
Than your tongue, to express them. 

Cleo. Are you men ! 
(For age may qualify, though not excuse. 
The backwardness of these,) able young men ! 
Yet, now your country's liberty's at the stake, 
Honour and glorious triumph made the garland 
For such as dare deserve them ; a rich feast 
Prepared by victory, of immortal viands. 
Not for base men, but such as with their swords 
Dare force admittance, and will be her guests : 
And can you coldly suffer such rewards 
To be proposed to labourers and slaves? 
While you, that are bom noble, to whom these, 
Valued at their best rate, are next to horses. 

Or other beasts of carriage, cry aim ! 
■Like idle lookers od, till their proud worth 
Make them become your masters ! 

Timd, By my hopes, 
There's fire and spirit enough in this to make 
Tlkersitet valiant. 

Cleo. No ; far, far be it from you ; 
Let these of meaner quality contend 
Who can endure most labour ; plough the earth, 
And think they are rewarded when their sweat 
Brings home a fruitful harvest to their lords ; 
Let them prove good artificers, and serve you 
For use and ornament, but not presume 
To touch at what is noble. If you think them 
Unworthy to taste of those cates you feed on. 
Or vrear such costly garments, will you grant them 
The privilege and prerogative of great minds, 
Whidi you were bom to ? Honour won in war, 
And to be styled preservers of their country, 
Are titles fit for free and generous spirits, 
And not for bondmen : had I been bom a man. 
And such ne'er-dying glories made the prize 
To bold heroic courage, by Diana, 
I would not to my brother, nay, my father. 
Be bribed to part with the least piece of honour 
I should gain in this action ! 

T*imol, She's inspired. 
Or in her speaks the genius of yonr country, 
To fire your blood in her defence : I am rapt 
With the imagination. Noble maid, 
Timoleon is your soldier, and will sweat 
Drops of his best blood, but he will bring home 
Triumphant conouest to you. Let me wear 
Your colours, lady ; and though youthful heats, 
lliat look no further than your outward form, 
Are long since buried in me ; while 1 live, 
I am a constant lover of your mind. 
That does transcend all precedents. 

CUo. 'Tis an honour, IGiva her scar/. 

And so 1 do receive it. 

Coris. Plague upon it ! 
She has got the start of us : I could even burst 
With envy at her fortune. 

Olymp, A raw young thing ! 
We have too much tongue sometimes, our hui^bands 

And she out-strip us! 

Leost. I am for the journey. 

Timag. May all diseases sloth and letchery bring. 
Fall upon him that stays at home ! 

Archid, Though old, 
I will be there in person. 

Diph. So will I: 
Methinks I am not what I was ; her words 
Have made me younger, by a score of years. 
Than I was when I came hither. 

Cleon. I am still 
Old Cleon, fat and unwieldy ; I shall never 
Make a good soldier, and therefore desire 
To be eicused at home. 

Asot, 'Tis my suit too : 
I am a gristle, and these spider fingers 
Will never hold a sword. Let us alone 
To rule the slaves at home : I can so yerk them«- 
But in my conscience I shall never prove 
Good justice in the war. 

Timol. Have your desires ; 
You would be burthens to us, no way aids. — 
Lead, fairest, to the temple ; first we'll pay 
A sacrifice to the gods for good success : 
For all great actions the wish'd course do nm, 
That are, with their allowance, well begun. 

IBxeutU all but Mae. Orac. and Cimb. 

jifar. Stay, Cimbrio koid Gracculo. 

Cimb, The business ? 

Mar, Meet me to-morrow night near to the 
Neighbouring the east part of the city. [grove, 

Grac, Well ' 

Mar, And bring the rest of our condition with 
I've something to impart may break our fetters. 
If vou dare second me. 

Cimb, We'll not faiL 

Grac. A cart-rope 
Shall not bind me at home. 

Mar, Think on't, and prosper. [Jfxoint 


SCENE I.— 'The tatM, A Room in Archi - 
DASfus's House, 

Enter Arcujdamus, Timaoorak, LkobThsnks, with gorgeUt 

and Mari*ux> 

Archid, So, so, 'tis well : how do I look ? 

Mar. Most sprightfully. 

Archid. I tshrink not in the shoulders ; though 
I'm old 
I'm tough, steel to the back ; I have not wasted 
My stock of strength in feather-beds : here's an 

arm too ; 
There's stuff in*t, and I hope will u»e a sword 
\m well as any beardless boy of you all. 

Timag. I'm glad to see you, sir, so well prepared 
To endure the travail of the war. 

Archid. Go to, sirrah ! 
I shall endure, when some of you keep your cabins. 
For all your flaunting feathers ; nay, l..eo8theneii. 
Yon are welcome too, all friends and fellows now. 

Leott. Your servant, sir. 

Archid. Pish ! leave these compliments, 
They stink in a soldier's mouth ; 1 could be merr . , 
For, now my gown's off, farewell gravity ! 
And must be bold to put a question to you. 
Without offence I hope. 

Leost. Sir, what you please. 

Archid. And you will answer truly ? 

Timng. On our words, sir. 

Archid. Go too, then : I presume you will confess 
That you are two notorious whoremasters — 
Nay, spare your blushing, I've been wild myself, 
A smack or so for physic does no harm ; 
Nay, it is physic, if used moderately : 
But to lie at rack and manger 

Leost, Say we grant this. 
For if we should deny't, you'll not believe ns. 
What will you infer upon it ? 

Archid. What you'll groan for, 
I fear, when you come to the test. Old stories 

tell us, 
There's a month call'd October, which brin^ in 



ACT 11 

Cold weather ; there are treacbet too, 'tis ra- 

la which to ttaiHl all ni^ht to the knees in water, 
la gallants breeds the toothach ; there's a sport 

y^MBedipinffperdme^doftmrnukme} 'tis a game 
Which jon most learn to piaj at : now in these 

And choice Tsriety of ezertises, 

(Naj, I come to yoo,) and ftsts, not for derotion. 

Your ramUtng hant-smock fedsstrangealterations; 

And, in a frorty uMiming, looks as if 

He conld with ease creep into a pottle-pot. 

Instead of his mistress' placket. Then he cnrees 

The time he spent in midaight Tidtatioas ; 

And finds wb^ he snperflooiulj parted with. 

To be reported good at length, and well breath'd. 

If bvt retrieved into his bad^ againy 

Would keep him wanner than a scarlet waistcoat. 

Or an armour lined with fur — O welcome! 

Yon bare cut off my discourse ; but I will perfect 
My lecture in die camp. 

IHph. Come, we are stay'd for ; 
The gmeral's afire for a remofe. 
And longs to be in action. 

Arckid. "Tis my wish too. 
We must part — nay, no tears, my best Cleora ; 
I shall melt too, anid that were ominous. 
Millions of blessings on thee ! All that's mine 
I give up to thy chiuge ; and, sirrah, look 


You with that care and reverence obsenre her. 
Which you would pay to me. — ^A kiss ; farewell, 

Diph. Peace wait upon you, &ir one ! [girl ! 
[£rcac«l AacMWAiiaB,^ mmd M«aiTH4> 

T*imag, 'Twere impertinence 
To wish you to be careful of your honour, 
That ever keep in pay a guard about you 
Of faithful virtues : farewell !— Friend, I leave yon 
To wipe our kisses off; I know that lovers 
Part with more circumstance and ceremony : 
Which I give way to. lExiL 

Leoit. 'TIS a noble favour, 
For which I ever owe )0u. We are alone ; 
But bow I should begin, or in what language 
Speak the unwilling word of parting from you, 
I am yet to learn. 

Cleo, And stiU continue ignorant ; 
For 1 must be most cruel to myself, 
Jf 1 should teach you. 

Leoit. Yet it must be spoken, 
Or yon will chide my slackness. You have fired 

With the heat of noble action to deserve you ; 
And the least spark of honour that Uxik life 
Prom your sweet breath, still fann'd by it and 

Must mount up in a prions flame, or I 
Am much unworthy. 

Cleo, May it not bum here, 
And, as a seamark, serve to guide true lovers, 
Toss'd on the ocean of luxurious wishes. 
Safe from the rocks of lost into tiie harbour 
Of pure affection ! lifing up an example 
Wiuch aftertimes shall witness, to our glory. 
First took from us banning. 

Leo»t, 'Tis a happineiis 

My duty to my country, and asiae honour 
Cannot consent to ; besides, add to these. 
It was your pleasure, fortified by persuasion* 
And strength of reaaoo, for the general good. 
That I should go. 

Cieo. Alas * I then was witty 
To plead against myadf ; and mine eye, fix'd 
Upon the hill of honour, ne'er descended 
To look into the vale of certain dangers. 
Through which you were to cut your passage to iL 

Zeasf. I'll stay at home, then. 

Cleo. No, that must not be ; 
For so, to serve my own ends, and to ga'n 
A petty wreath myself, I rob you of 
A certain triumph, which must fall upon you. 
Or Yirtne's tum'd a handmaid to blind Fortune. 
How is my soul divided ! to confirm you 
In the opinion of the world, most worthy 
To be beloved, (with me you're at the height. 
And can advance no further,) I must send you 
To court the goddess of stem war, who, if 
She see you with my eyes, will ne'er return yon. 
Bat grow enamour'd of yon. 

iMt. Sweet, take comfort ! 
And what I ofiior you, you must vonchsafe n»e 
Or I am wretched. All the danger* that 
I can encounter in the war, are trifles ; 
My enemies abroad to be contemn*d : 
The dreadful foes, that have the power to hurt me, 
I leave at home with you. 

Cleo, With me! 

LeosL Nay, in 3fOu, 
In every part about you, they are arm'd 
To fight against ane. 

Clio. Where! 

LmsI. There*8 no perfection 
That you are mistress of, but musters up 
A legion against me, and all sworn 
To my destruction. 

Cleo. This is strange ! 

LootL But true, sweet ; 
Excess of lore can work sudi miracles ! 
Upon this ivory forehead are intrench 'd 
Ten thousand rivals, and these suns coicmand 
Supplies fi:om all the worid, on pain to fuHieit 
Their comfortable beams ; these raby lips, 
A rich exchequer to assure their pay : 
This hand Sibylla's golden bough tu guard them 
Through bell, and horror, to the Elysian springs : 
Which wbo*ll not venture for? and, should I name 
Such as the virtues of your mind invite. 
Their numbers would be infinite^ 

Cleo, Can you think 
I may be tempted ? 

L^uL You were never proved. 
For me, I have conversed with you no further 
Than would become a brother. I ne'er tuned 
Loose notes to your chaste ears ; or brought 

rich presents 
For my artillery, to batter down 
The fortress of your honour ; nor endeavoured 
To make your blood run high at solemn feasts. 
With viands that provoke ; the speeding philtres 
I work'd no bawds to tempt you ; never practised 
The cunning and corrapting arts they study. 
That wander in the wild maze of desire ; 
Honest simplicity and truth were all 
The agents I employ 'd ; and when 1 came 
To see you, it was with that reverence 
As I bdield the altars of the gods : 




Amf LoTCf that came along with me, was taught 
To leave hU arrows and bis torch behind, 
QnenchM in my fear to give offence. 

CU: And 'twas 
lliat modest J that took me,, and preserves me, 
Like a fresh rose, in mine own natural sweetness ; 
MFhIch, sullied with the touch of impure hands. 
Lows both soent and beauty. 

fse^tt. But, Cleora, 
When I am absent, as I must go from you, 
(Such is the cruelty of my fate,) and leave you, 
Unguarded, to the violent assaults 
Of loose temptations ; when the memory 
Of my so many years of love and service 
Is lost in other objects ; when you are courted 
By such as keep a catalogue of their conquests. 
Woo upon credulous viigins ; when nor father 
Is here to owe you, brother to advise you. 
Nor your poor servant by, to keep such off, 
By lust instructed how to undermine, [senses. 
And blow your chastity up; when your wealc 
At oooe assaulted, shall conspire against you, 
And play the traitors to your soul, your virtue ; 
How can you stand ? Faith, though you fall, 

and I 
The judge, before whom you then stood accused, 
I should acquit you. 

Cleo. Will you then confirm 
That loTe and jealousy, though of different natures. 
Must of necessity be twins ; the younger 
Created only to defeat the elder, 
And spoil him of his birthright ? 'tis not well. 
But being to part, I will not chide, I will not ; 
Nor with one syllable or tear, express 
How deeply I am wounded with the arrows 
Of your distrust : but when that you shall hear. 
At your return, how I have bom myself. 
And what an austere penance I take on me. 
To satisfy your doubts ; when, like a Vestal, 
I show you, to your shame, the fire still burning. 
Committed to my charge by true affection. 
The people joining with you in the wonder ; 
When, by the glorious splendour of my sufferings. 
The prying eyes of jealousy are struck blind. 
The monster too that feeds on fears, e'en starv'd 
For want of seeming matter to accuse me ; 
Expect, Leosthenes, a sharp reproof 
From my just anger. 

T^east, What will you do ? 

CUo, Obey me. 
Or from this minute you are a stranger to me ; 
And do't without reply. Ail-seeing sun, 
Tliou witness of my innocence, thus I close 
Mine eyes against thy comfortable light, 
'Till the return of this distrustful man ! 
Now bind them sure ; — nay, do't : [lie biruit her 

epes wiih her scurf."] If, uncompell'd, 
I loose this knot,- until the hands that made it 
Be pleased to untie it, may consuming plagues 
Fall heavy on me ! pray you guide me to your lips. 
This kiss, when you come back, shall be a virgin 
To bid you welcome ; nay, I have not done yet : 
I will continue dumb, and, you once gone. 
No accent shall come from me. Now to my 

My tomb, if you miscarry : there I'll spend 
My hours in silent mourning, and thus much 
Shnll be reported of me to my glory, 
.\nd you confesis it, whether 1 live or die. 
My chastity triumphs o'er your jealousy. lEjceunU 

SCENE II.— T^ iame. A Room in Cleon's 


Enter Asoros driving in QaaoruLO. 

Aeot, You slave ! you dog ! down, cur. 

Grae, Hold, good young master. 
For pity's sake ! 

Asot, Now am I in my kingdom : — 
Who says I am not valiant ? I begin 
To frown again : quake, villain I 

Grac, So I do, sir ; 
Your looks are agues to me. 

Atot. Are they so, sir 1 
'Slight, if I had them at this bay that flout me. 
And say I look like a sheep and an ass, I'd make 
Feel that I am a lion. [them 

Grac. Do not roar, sir, 
As you are a valiant beast : but do you know 
Why you use me thus ? 

AeoL I'll beat thee a little more. 
Then study for a reason. O ! I have it : 
One brake a jest on me, and then I swore, 
(Because I durst not strike him,) when I cama 

That I would break thy head. 

Grae. Plague on his mirth ! 
I am sure I mourn for't. 

Aiot, Remember too, I charge you. 
To teach my horse good manners yet ; this morn- 
As I rode to take the air, the untutor'd jade [ing 
Threw me, and kick'd me, 

Grae, I thank him for'L iAiide 

AsoL What's that? 

Grae. I say, sir, I will teach him to hold hie 
If you will rule your fingers. [heels, 

Aso4, I'll think upon't. 

Grae. I am bruised to jelly : better be a dog. 
Than slave to a fool or coward. iAside 

Atot. Here's my mother, 

Enter CoaittCA and Zamtria. 

She is chastising too : how brave we live. 

That have our slaves to beat, to keep us in breath 

When we want exercise ! 

Cow. Careless harlotry, IStriking her. 

Look to't ; if a curl fall, or wind or sun 
Take my complexion off, I will not leave 
One hair upon thine head. 

Grac. Here's a second show 
Of the family of pride ! iAiide. 

CorU. Fie on these wars ! 
I'm starv'd for want of action ; not a gamester left 
To keep a woman play. If this world hist 
A little longer with us, ladies must study 
Some new. found mystery to cool one another. 
We shall burn to cinders else. 1 have heard there 

have been 
Such arts in a long vacation ; would they were 
Reveal'd to me ! they have made my doctor, too, 
Physician to the army : he was used 
To serve the turn at a pinch ; but I am now 
Quite unprovided. 

Asot. My mother-in-law is, sure. 
At her devotion. 

Corit. There are none but our slaves left. 
Nor are they to be trusted. Some great women, 
Which I could UMme, in a dearth o( vitiitants, 
Rather than be idle, have been glad to play 
At small game ; but I am so queasy-stoinach'd. 
And from my youth have been so used to daiaiieti 



ACT 11. 

I cannot taste such gross meat. Some that are 

Draw on their shoemakers, and take a fall 
From snch as mend mats in their galleries ; 
Or when a tailor settles a petticoat on, 
Take measure of his bodkin ; fie upon't ! 
Tis base ; for my part, I could rather lie with 
A gallant's breeches, and conceive upon them. 
Than stoop so low. 

Asoi, Fair madam, and my mother. 

CortM. Leave the last out, it smdls rank of the 
And shews coarse breeding; yoor true courtier 

knows not 
His niece, or sister, firom another woman, 
If she be apt and cunning. — I could tempt now 
This fool, but he will be so long a working 1 
Then he's my husband's son :--the fitter to 
Supply his wants ; I have the way already, 
1*11 try if it will take. — ^When were you with 
Your mistress, (air Cleora ? 

Aioi, Two days sithence ; 
But she's so coy, forsooth, that ere I can 
Speak a penn'd speech I have bought and studied 
Her vroman calls her away. [for her, 

CorU, Here's a dull thing I 
But better taught, I hope.~-Send off your man. 

Atoi. Sirrah, begone. 

Grae. This is iho first good torn 
She ever did me. lAtUU, ttnd ejtit 

CorU, We'll have a scene of mirth ; 
I must not have you shamed for want of practice. 
I stand here for Cleora, and, do you hear, minion, 
That you may tell her what her woman should do, 
Repeat the lesson over that I taught you. 
When my young lord came to visit me : if you miss 
In a syllable or posture 

2UifU. I am perfect 

Asoi. Would I were so ! I fear I shall be oat. 

Coria. If you are, I'll help you in. Thus I walk 
You are to enter, and, as you pass by, [musing : 
Salute my woman ; — be but bold enough, 
You'll speed, I warrant you. Brgin. . 

Atoi. Have at it 

Save thee, sweet heart ! a kiss. 

Zani. Venus forbid, sir, 
I should presume to taste your honour's lips 
Before my lady. 

Coris. This is well on both parts. 

Atoi. How does thy lady ? 

Zani. Happy in your lordship, 
As oft as she thinks on you. 

Corit. Very good ; 
This wench will learn in time. 

Atoi. Does she think of me ? 

Zani. O, sir 1 and speaks the best of you ; ad- 
Your wit, your clothes, discourse ; and swears, 

but that 
You are not forward enough for a lord, you were 
The most complete and absolute man, — I'll show 
Your lordship a secret- 

Atoi. Not of thine own ? 

Zani. O ! no, sir, 
'TIS of my lady : but, upon your honour, 
You must conceal it. 

Atoi. By all means. 

ZanL Sometimes 
I lie with my kdy, as the last night I did ; 
She could not say her prayers for thinking of yo« : 

Nay, she talk'd of you in her sleep, and sigh'd on^, 

neeet Atotut^ ture thou ari to baekitard^ 
Thai I mutt ravith thee I and in that fervour 
She took me in her arms, threw me upon her, 
Kiss'd me, and hugg'd me, and then waked, and 
Because 'twas bot a dream. [wept, 

Coria. This will bring him on. 
Or he*s a block. — A good girl ! 

Atoi. I am mad, 
Till I am at it 

ZanL Be not put off, sir, 
With, Away, I dare not z—fie, you are immodest ; 
My brother* s up ; — My father will hear. — Shoot 

home, sir. 
You cannot miss the mark. 

Asoi. There's for thy counsel. 
This is the fairest interlude — ^tf it prove earnest, 

1 shall wish I were a player. 

Cortff. Now my turn comes. — 
I am exceeding sick, pray yon send my page 
For young Asotus, I cannot live without him ; 
Fray him to visit me ; yet, when he's present, 
I must be strange to him. 

Asoi. Not so, you are caught : 
Lo, whom you wish ; behold Asotus here ! 

Coris. I on wait well, minion; shortly I shall 
not speak 
My thoughts in my private chamber, but they must 
Lie open to discovery. 

Asoi. 'Slid, she's angry. 

Zani. No, no, sir, she but seems so. To her 

Asoi. Lady, I would descend to kiss your hand. 
But that 'tis gloved, and civet makes me rick ; 
And to presume to taste your lips not safe, 
Yuur woman by. 

Coris. I hope she's no observer 
Of whom I grace. [ZAirrRrA looks on a boi*. 

Atoi, She's at her book, O rare ! IKiue* her. 

Coris. A kiss for entertainment is sufficient ; 
Too much of one dish doys me. 

Asoi. I would serve in 
The second course ; but still I fear your woman. 

Cortf. You are very cantelous. 

[ZANTHfA tetm* to tttep, 

A sot, 'Slight, riie's asleep ! 
'Tis pity these instructions are not printed ; 
They would sell well to chambermaids. 'I'is no 

time now 
To play with my good fortune, and your favour ; 
Yet to be taken, as they say : — a scout. 
To give the signsl when the enemy comes, 

IBxit Zanthia. 

Were now wortii gold. — She's gone to watoh. 
A waiter so train'd up were worth a million 
To a wanton city madam. 

Coris. You are grown conceited. 

Asoi. You teach me. Lady, now your cabinet- 
Corn. You speak as it were yours. 

Atoi, When we are there, 
I'll shew you my best evidence. i8eizii»g \wt 

Coris. Hold ! you forget, 
I only play Cleora's part. 

Asoi. No matter. 
Now we've begun, let's end the acU 

Coris, Forbear, sir ; 
Your father's wife '— 

Asoi. Why, being his heir, I am bound* 
Since he can make no satisfMition to you, 
To see his debts (laid. 

•OKItR in. 



Re-enUr Zanthia running, 

Zeni. Madam, my lord ■ 

Coria. Fall off* 
1 must trifle with the time too, hell confound it ! 

A§oL Plague on his toothless chaps ! he cannot 
Himadfy yet hinders such as have good stomachs. 

EnUr Clmok, 

CUam, Where are you, wife ? I fain would go 
But cannot find my slaves that bear my litter ; 
I am tired. Your shoulder, son ; — nay, sweet, thy 

hand too : 
A turn or two in the garden, and then to supper, 
And so to bed. 

A90L Never to rise, I hope, more. {.AshU. 


SCENE III.—^ Grove near the Walls qf 


E$Uer Marullo and Poliphrow. A Table nt out Kith 

wine, SfC. 

Mar, 'Twill take, I warrant thee. 

Poliph, Yon may do your pleasure ; 
But, in my judgment, better to make use of 
The present opportunity. 

Mar. No more. 

Foliph, I am silenced. 

Mar, More wine ; prithee drink hard, friend, 
And when we're hot, whatever I propound. 

Enter Cnuuuo, Graccolo. and other SlavM. 

Second with vehemence. — Men of your words, all 

welcome ! 
Slaves use no ceremony: sit down, here's a health. 

Poliph, Let it run round, fill every man his 

Grae, We look for no waiters ; — this is wine ! 

Mar. The better, 
Strong, lusty wine : drink deep, this juice will 
As free as our lords. [make us 


Grae, But if they find we taste it. 
We are all damn'd to the quarry during life, 
Without hope of redemption. 

Mar, Pish ! for that 
We'll talk anon : another rouse I we lose time ; 

[ Drinks. 
When our low blood's wound up a little higher, 
I'll offer my design ; nay, we are cold yet ; 
These glasses contain nothing : — do me rie^ht, 

ITiikr* the botfle. 
As e'er you hope for liberty. 'Tis done bravely ; 
How do you feel yourselves now ? 

Cimb. I begin 
To have strange conundrums in my head. 

Grae. And I 
To loath base water : I would be hang'd in peace 
For one month of such holidays. [now, 

Mar. An age, boys. 
And yet defy the whip ; if you are men, 
Or dare believe you have souls. 

Cimb, We are no brokers. 

Grae, Nor whores, whose marks are out of their 
months, they have none ; 
They hardly can get salt enough to keep them 
Prom stinking above ground. 

Mmr. Oar lords are no godi^ ^ 2 

Grae, They are devils to us, I am sure. 

Mar. But subject to 
Cold, hunger, and diseases. 

Grae, In aoundance. 
Your lord that feels no ache in his chine at twenty. 
Forfeits his privilege ; how should their surgeons 
Or ride on their footdoths ? [build else. 

Mar, Equal Nature fuhion'd us 
All in one mould. The bear serves not the bear, 
Nor the wolf the wolf ; 'twas odds of strength in 

That pluck'd the first link from the golden chain 
With which that Thing of Things bound in the 

Why then, since we are taught, by their examples. 
To love our liberty, if not command, 
Should the strong serve the weak, the fair, de* 

form'd ones ? 
Or such as know the cause of things, pay tribute 
To ignorant fools ? All's but the outward gloss. 
And politic form, that does distinguish us. — 
Cinibrio, thou art a strong man ; if, in place 
Of carrying burthens, thonhadst been train'd up 
In martial discipline, thou might'st have proved 
A general, fit to lead and fight for Sicily, 
Ah fortunate as Timoleon. 

Cimb. A little fighting 
Will serve a general's turn* 

Mar, Thou, Gracculo, 
Hast fiuency of Unguage, quick conceit ; 
And, 1 think, cover'd with a senator's robe. 
Formally set on the bench, thou would'st appear 
As brave a senator. 

Grae* Would 1 had lands. 
Or money to buy a place ! and if I did not 
Sleep on the bench with the drowsiest of them, 

play with my chain, 
Look on my watch, when my guts chimed twelve, 

and wear 
A state beard, with my barber's help, rank with 

In their most choice peculiar gifts ; degrade me, 
Anil put me to drink water again, which, now 
I have tasted wine, were poison ! 

Mar, 'Tis spoke nobly. 
And like a gownman : none of these, I think too. 
But would prove good burghers. 

Grae, Hum ! the fools are modest ; 
I know their insides : here's an ill-faced fellow, 
(But that will not be seen in a dark shop,) 
If he did not in a month learn to outswear, 
In the selling of his wares, the cunning'st trades- 
In Syracuse, I hnve no skill. Here's another. 

Observe but what a cozening look he has ! 

Hold up thy head, man ; if, f<>r drawing gallants 
Into mortgages for commodities, cheating heirs 
With your new counterfeit gold thread, and 

gumm'd velvets. 
He does not transqend all that went before him. 
Call in his patent : pass the rest ; they'll all make 
Sufficient beccos, and, with their brow-antlers. 
Bear up the cap of maintenance. 

Mar, Is't not pity, then. 
Men of such eminent virtues should be slaves ? 

Cimb, Our fortune. 

Mar, Tis your folly ; daring men 
Command and make their fotes. Say, at this 
I mark'd you out a way to liberty ; [instant 

Posses*'d you of those blessings, our proud lords ' 



ACT 111. 

So lon^ have sarfeited in ; and, what U sweetest. 
Ann yon with power, by strong hand to revenge 
Your stripes, yoar unregarded toil, the pride 
The insolence of snch as tread upon 
Yunr patient sufferings ; fill yoor &niish*d months 
With the fat and plenty of the land ; redeem yua 
From the dark Tale of senritnde, and seat you 
Upon a hill of happiness ; what would you do 
To purchase this, and more ? 

Grae. Do ! any thing : 
To bum a church or too, and dance by the light 
Were but a May. game. [on't, 

PoRph. I have a father living ; 
But, if the cutting of his throat could work this. 
He should excuse me. 

Ciai^. 'Slight ! I would cut mine own, 
Rather dian miss it ; so I might but have 
A taste on't ere I die. 

Mar. Be resolute men ; 
Yon shall ran no such hazard, nor groan under 
Tlie burthen of such crying sins. 

Cmi6. The means ? 

Grae, I fed a woman's longing. 

Po&ph, Do not torment us 
With expectation. 

Mmtn Thus, then : Our proud masters, 


And all the able freemen of the city. 
Are fl^one unto the wars 

Poliph. Observe but that. 

Mar, Old men, and sndi as cm make no re- 

Are only left at home- 


Grae, And the proud yoong fool. 
My master — if thb take, 1*11 hamper him. 

Mar, Their arsenal, their treasure, *■ in our 
If we hare hearts to seize them. If oar loids fUI 
In the present action, the whole country's ours : 
Say they return Tictorious, we have means 
To keep the town against them ; at the worst. 
To make our own conditions. Now, if yon darw 
Fall on their daughters and their wives, break up 
Their iron chests, banquet on dieir rich beds. 
And carre yourselves of all delights and pleasures 
Yon have been barr'd from, with one voice cry 

vritb me, 
Liberty ! liberty ! 

y|//. Liberty ! liberty ! 

Mar. Go then, aud take possession; use aO 
freedom ; 
But shed no blood. [Ejreunt SlaTca.] — So, this is 

well begun ; 
But not to be commended, till't be done. IBxiU 


SCENE I,— The same, A GaOerf in Archi- 
DAMUs's Ilouee, 

E»Ur MxmcMJLo aaJ TiMAiriMU. 

Mmr, Why, think yo« that I plot against my- 
Fear nothing, yon are safe : these thick-skinn'd 
I use as instraments to serve my ends. [slaves. 
Pierce not my deep designs ; nor shall they dare 
To lift an arm against you. 

Timamd. With your will. 
But turbulent spirits, raised beyond themselves 
With ease, are not so soon laid ; they oft prove 
Dangerous to him that caU*d them up. 

3iar, *TU true, 
In what is rashly undertook. Long since 
1 have consider'd seriuuslv their natures, 
Proceeded with mature advice, and know 
1 hold their will and fiunilties in more awe 
Than I can do mT own. Now, for their license. 
And riot in the aty, 1 can make 
A just defence and use : it may appear too 
A politic prerentioQ of such ills 
As might with greater violence and danger. 
Hereafter be attem|kteil ; though tomt »niart (or*t» 
It matters not : — however, l*m resolvM ; 
And >leep you with security. Holds Cleora 
Constant to her rash vow ? 

T i mam d. Beyond belief; 
To me, that see her hourly, it seems a faMv''. 
Bt signs I guess at her commands, and •er\e thrm 
^ith silence; such her pleasure is. nuul<» kuo«u 
By holding her fair hand thus. She rats little. 
Steeps less, as I imagine ; tMU'V a day 
I leiMi her to this gallery, whrrt" she walks 
Some half a dosen turns, and. Kavinn «»rtVrsd 
To her absent saint a siH'ntUx^ of sighs. 
She points Iwck lo her |ki>oii. 

3far, Gnide her hither, 
And make her understand the sUres' rerolt ; 
And, with your utmost eloquence, enlarge 
Their insolence, and rapes done in the city 
Forget not too, I am their diief, and tell her 
You strongly think my extreme dotage on her. 
As I'm Marullo, caused this sodden uproar. 
To make way to enjoy her. 

Timand, Punctually 
I will disduu^ my part. C^'^ 

EhI^ Pburaamt. 

Poliph, O, sir, I sought yon : 
You've miss'd the best sport ! Hell, I think's broke 
There's such rariety of all disorders, [loose ; 

As leaping, shouting, drinking, dsncing, whoring. 
Among the slaves ; answered with crying, howling. 
By the citizens and their wives ; such a confusion. 
In a word, not to tire you. as I think. 
The like was never read of. 

Afar. I share in 
The pleasure, though I'm absent. This is some 
Revenge for my dii^race. 

Pviiph, But, sir, 1 fear, 
If your authority restrain diem not, 
They'll lire the city, or kill one another. 
They are so apt to outrage ; neither know I 
NVhether you wish it. and came therefore- to 
.\cquaiut you with so much. 

A/«r. 1 will among them ; 
Hut must not long be absent. 

Pidiidk. At your pleasure. iExeunU 

SCKNK IL^The same.^A Roam m the same. 

i»*f»Ht WAtkim, t-HU^ irvWOSLA 4UHI TlMANDKA. 

l\mmmd. They are at our gates : my heart • 
alfrtghts and horrvirs 




Increase each minu^ No way left to save us, 
No flattering hope to comfort os, or means. 
But miracle, to redeem us from base lost 
And lawless rapine ! Are there gods, yet suffer 
^^1lch innocent sweetness to be made the spoil 
Of brutish appetite ? or, since they decree 
To ruin nature's masterpiece, of which 
They hare not left one pattern, must they choose, 
To set their tyranny off, slaves to pollute 
Thft spring of chastity, and poison it 
With their most loathed embraces ? and of those, 
He that should offer up his life to guard it, 
Marullo, curs'd Marullo, your own bondman. 
Purchased to serve you, and fed by your favours ? — 
Nay, start not : it is he ; he, the grand captain 
Of these libidinous beasts, that have not left 
One cruel act undone, that barbarous conquest 
Yet ever practised in a captive city. 
He, doating on your beauty, and to have fello#8 
In his foul sin, hath raised these mutinous slaves, 
Who have begun the game by violent rapes 
Upon the wives and daughters of their lords : 
And he, to quench the fire of his base lust. 
By force comes to enjoy you — do not wring 
Your innocent hands, 'tis bootless ; use themesns 
That may preserve you. 'Tis no crinoe to break 
A vow when you are forced to it ; shew your fBct, 
And with the majesty of commanding beauty. 
Strike dead his loose affections : if that fail. 
Give liberty to your tongue, and use entreaties ; 
There cannot be a breast of flesh and blood. 
Or heart so made of flint, but must receive 
Impression from your words ; or eyes so stem 
But, from the clear reflection of your tears, 
Must melt, and bear them company. Will you not 
Do these good oflSces to yourself ? poor I, then. 
Can only weep your fortune : here be comes. 

Enttr Marullo, tpeaking ai the do&r. 

Mar. He that advances 
A foot beyond this, comes upon my sword : 
You have had your ways, disturb not mine. 

THmand, Speak gently, 
Her fears may kill her else. 

Mar. Now Love insinre me 1 
Still sliall this canopy of envious night 
Obscure my suns of comfort ? and those dainties 
Of purest white and red, which I take in at 
My greedy eyes, denied my famish'd senses ?^ 
The organs of your hearing yet are open ; 
And yon infringe no vow, though you vouchsafe 
To give them warrant to convey unto 
Your understanding parts, the story of 
A tortured and despairing lover, whom 
Not fortune but affection marks your slave : — 
Shake not, best lady I for belie v*t, you are 
As far from danger as I am from force : 
All violence I shall offer, tends no further 
Than to relate my sufferings, which I dare not 
Presume to do, till, by some gracious sign. 
You shew you are pleased to hear me. 

Tiimand. If you are. 
Hold forth your right hand. 

[Clboha holds forth her right hand. 

Mar. So, 'tis done ; and 1 
With my gbd lips seal humbly on your foot. 
My soul's thanks for the favour : 1 forbear 
To tell you who I am, what wealth, what honours, 
I made exchange of. to become your servant : 
And, though I knew worthy Leosthenes 

(For sure he must be worthy, for whose love 
You have endured so much) to be my rival ; 
When rage and jealousy counsell'd me to kill him. 
Which then I could have done with much more 

Than now, in fear to grieve you, I dare speak it, 
Love, seconded wich duty, boldly told me 
The man I hated, foir Cleora fiivour'd : 
And that was his protection. [Clboiu bova. 

Timand. See, sne bows 
Her head in sign of thankfulness. 

Mar. He removed by 
The occasion of the war, (my flies increasing 
By being closed and stopp'd up,) frantic affection 
Prompted me to do something in his absence. 
That might deliver you into my power. 
Which you see is effected : and, even now. 
When my rebellious passions chide my dulness, 
And tell me how much I abuse my fortunes, 
Now it is in my power to bear you henr«, 

[CLBoaA starU. 
Or take my wishes here, (nay, fear not, madam. 
True love's a servant, brutish lust a tyrant,) 
I dare not touch those viands that ne'er taste well, 
But when they're freely offer'd : only thus much, 
Be pleased I may speak in my own dear cause. 
And think it worthy your consideration, 
(I have loved truly, caimotsay deserved. 
Since duty must not take the name of merit,) 
That I so far prize your content, before 
All blessings that my hope can fashion to me. 
That willingly I entertain despair. 
And, for your sake, embrace it : for I know, 
lliis opportunity lost, by no endeavour 
The like can be recover d. To conclude. 
Forget not that I lose myself to save you : 
For what can I expect but death and torture. 
The war being ended ? and, what is a task 
Would trouble Hercules to undertake, 
I do deny you to myself, to give you, 
A pure unspotted present, to my rival. 
I have said : If it distaste not, best of virgins. 
Reward my temperance with some bwful favour. 
Though you contemn my person. 
[Clkura hnrrls, then puUt qf her ytoM, and t^ers her 
hand to Marullo. 

Timand. See, she kneels ; 
And seems to call upon the gods to pay 
The debt she owes your virtue : to perform which. 
As a sure pledge of friendship, she vouchsafes yoa 
Her fair right hand. 

Mar. I am paid for all my sufferings. 
Now, when you please, pass to your private cham- 
ber : 
My love and duty, faithfhl guards, shall keep yon 
From all disturbance ; and when you are sated 
With thinking of Leosthenes, as a fee 
Due to my service, Sfmre one sigh for me. 

lExeunt. Clsora makes a low eourtesp as she goes vg. 

SCENE III.— TA# tatM. A Room in Clbon's 


Enter GRAocinx), leading Aaorus in an ape's habit, mith 
a chain about his neck ; Zaxtmia in CoRiacA'tf clothes, 
she bearing up her train. 

Grac. Come on, sir. 
Asot. Oh! 

Grae, Do yon grumble ? you were ever 
A brainless ass ; but if this hold, I'll teach you 




To come aloft and do tricks like an ape. 

Your morning's lesson : if yon miia 

jlsot. O no, sir. 

Grtte. What for the Carthaginians' [Asotus 
makes moppes. ] A good beast 
What for oarself, your lord .' tDanceM.'] Exceed- 
ing well. 
There's your reward. [Gives him an apple,']'^'Sot 
kiss your paw ! So, so, so. 

Zant. Was ever lady, the first day of her honour. 
So waited on by a wrinlded crone ? She looks now. 
Without her painting, curling, and perfumes. 
Like the last day of January ! and stinks worse 
Than a hot brache in the dog-days. Further off I 
So — stand there like an image ; if you sdr, 
Till, with a quarter of a look, I call you, 
You know what follows. 

Coris. p, what am I fallen to ! 
But 'tis a punishment for my lust and pride, 
Justly retum'd upon me. 

Grae, How dost thou like 
Thy ladyship, Zanthia ? 

Zant. Very well ; and bear it 
With as much state as your lordship. 

Grac. Gire me thy hand : 
Let us, like conquering Romans, walk in triumph. 
Our captives following ; then mount our tribunals, 
And make the slaves our footstools. 

2^nt. Fine, by Jove 1 
Are yonr hands dean, minion ? 

Coris. Yes, forsooth. 

Zanl. Fall off then. 
So ! now come on ; and, haTing made your three 


Down, I say — are you stiff in the hams.' — ^now 

And tie our shoe : now kiss it, and be happy. 

Grae. This is state, indeed ! 

Zant. It is such as she taught me ; 
A tickling itch of greatness, your proud ladies 
Expect from their poor waiters: we have changed 

She does what she forced me to do in her reign, 
And 1 must practise it in mine. 

Grae, 'Tis justice: 

! here come more. 

Enttr Cuoouo, CuKur, Fourmow, and Oltmfia. 

Cimb, Discover to a drachma, 
Or I will famish thee. 

Cleon. O ! I am pined already. 

Cimb. Hunger shall force thiee to cnt off the 
From thy arms and thighs, then broil them on the 

For carbonadoes. 

Poliph. Spare the old jade, he's founder'd. 

Grae. Cut his throat then, 
And hang him out for a scarecrow. 

Poliph. You have all your wishes 
In your revenge, and I have mine. You see 

1 use no tyranny : when I was her slave, 
She kept me as a sinner, to lie at her back 

In frosty nights, and fed me high with dainties. 

Which still she had in her belly again ere morning ; 

And in requital of those courtesies, 

Having made one another free, we are married : 

And, if you wish us joy, join with us in 

A dance at our wedding. 

Grac. Agreed ; for I have thought of 

A most triumphant one, which shall express 
We are lords, and these our slaves. 

Poliph, But we shall want 
A woman. 

Grae. No, here's Jaiie-of-ap|» shall serve ; 
Carry your body swimming. — Where's tiie music ? 

Poliph. I have placed it in yon window. 

Grae. Begin then sprightly. 

IMutiet and tkem a domes. 

Enter Mabctjj) behind. 

PoRph. Well done on all sides ! I have prepared 
Let's drink and cool us. [a banquet ; 

Grac. A good motion. 

Cimb, Wait here; 
You have been tired with feasting, learn to Cut 

Grae. I'll have an apple for jack, and may be 

May fall to your share. [some scrape 

lEjcennt Orac. Zant. Cms. Foura. and Oltmp. 

Coris. Whom can we accuse 
But ourselves, for what we suffer ? Thou art just. 
Thou all-creating Power ! and misery 
Instructs me now, that yesterday acknowledged 
No deity beyond my lust and. pride. 
There is a heaven above us, that looks down 
With the eyes of justice, upon such as number 
Those blessings freely given, in the acoompt 
Of their poor merits : else it could not be. 
Now miserable I, to please whose palate 
The elements were ransack'd, yet oomplain'd 
Of nature, as not liberal enough 
In her provision of rarities 
To sooth my taste, and pamper my proud flesh. 
Should wish in vain for bread. 

Clean, Yes, I do wish too. 
For what I fed my dogs with. 

Coris. I, that forget 
I was made of flesh and blood, and thought the silk 
Spun by the diligent worm out of their entraila, 
Too coarse to clothe me, and the softest down 
Too hard to sleep on ; that disdain'd to look 
On virtue being in rags, that stopp'd my nose 
At those who did not use adulterate arts 
To better nature ; that from those that served me 
Expected adoration, am made jusUy 
The scorn of my own bondwoman. 

Asoi. I am punished, 
For seeking to cuckold mine own natural firther : 
Had I been gelded then, or used myself 
Like a man, 1 had not been transform'd, and forced 
To play an overgrown ape. 

Clean. I know I cannot 
Last long, that's all my comfort. Come, I foigive 
'Tis in vain to be angry ; let us, therefore, [both : 
Lament together like friends. 

Mar. What a true mirror 
Were this sad spectacle for secure greatness ! 
Here they, that nerer see themselves, but in 
The glass of servile flattery, might behold 
The weak foundation upon which they build 
Their trust in human frailty. Happy are those. 
That knowing, in their birtiis, they are subject to 
Uncertain change, are still prepared, and arm'd 
For either fortune : a rare principle. 
And with much labour leam'd in wisdom's school ! 
For, as these bondmen, by tiieir actions, shew 
That their prosperity, like too Urge a sail 
For their small bark of judgment, sinks them with 
A fore-right gale of liberty, ere they reach 

■GfcffB nr. 



The port they long to touch at ; so these wretchet, 
Swolirn with the false opiDion of their worth, 
And prood of blessings left them, not acquired ; 
That did believe they could with giant arms 
Fathom the earth, and were above their fates, 
Thoae borrow'd helps, that did support them, ran- 

Pall of themselves, and by unmanly suffering, 
Betray their proper weakness, and make known 
Their boasted greatness was lent, not their own. 

CUon, O for some meat ! they sit long. 

C'orit. We forgot. 
When we drew out intemperate feasts till midnight ; 
Their hanger was not thought on, nor their watch- 
Nor did we hold ourselves served to the height, 
But when we did exact and force their duties 
Beyond their strength and power. 

AtoL We pay for't now : 
I now could be content to have my head 
Broke with a rib of beef, or for a cofl&n. 
Be baried in the dripping-pan. 

Be-enter Pouramw, CmBJuo, Qiucculo, Zanthia, and 
Olympia, dmmk and quarreUing, 

Cimb, Do not hold me ; 
Not kiss the bride ! 

PcUph. No, sir. 

Cimb, She's common good. 
And so we'll use her. 

Grme, We'll have nothing private. 

Mtir, [coming forward.] Hold 1 

Zant. Here's MaruUo. 

Olpmp. He's jour chief. 

Cimb. We are equals ; 
I will know no obedience. 

Grae, Nor superior — 
Nay, if you are lion drunk, I will make one ; 
For lightly ever he that parts the fray, 
Goe^ away with the blows. 

Afar. Art thou mad too ? 
No more, as you respect me. 

Poliph I obey, sir. 

Mar. Quarrel among yourselves ! 

Cimb. Yes, in our wine, sir. 
And for our wenches. 

Grae. How could we be lords else ? 

Mar, Take heed; I've news will cool this 
he^t, and make you 
Remember what you were. 

Cimb. How! 

Mar. Send off" these. 
And then I'll tell you. [ZAimiiA beats OoaiscA. 

Olpmp. This is tyranny, 
Now she offends not 

Zani, 'Tis for ezerdse. 
And to help digestion. What is she good for else ? 
Tu me it was 1^ language. 

Mar. Lead her off. 
And take heed, madam minx, the wheel may turn. 
Go to your meat, and rest ; and from this hour 
Remember, he that is a lord to-day, 
May be a slave to-morrow. 

CUon. Good morality ! 

lExewit Clsow. Asot. Zaivt. Olvmp. and Ooais. 

Cimb. But what would you impart ? 

Mar. What must invite you 
To stand upon your guard, and leave your feasting; 
Or but imagine what it is to be 
Most miserable, and rest assured you are so. 
Our masters are victorious. 

AU. How! 

Mar, Within 
A day's march of the city, ilesh'd with spoil, 
And proud of conquest ; the armado sunk. 
The Carthaginian admiral, hand to hand, 
Slain by LMwthenes. 

Cimb. I feel the whip 
Upon my back already. 

Grae, Every man 
Seek a convenient tree, and hang himself. 

Poliph, Better die once, thim live an age to 
New tortures every hour. [suffer 

Cimb. Say, we submit. 
And yield us to their mercy ?-« 

Mar, Can you flatter 
Yourselves with such false hopes ? Or dare yon 

That your imperious lords, that never fail'd 
To punish with severity petty slips 
In your n^lect of labour, may be won 
To pardon those licentious outrages 
Which noble enemies forbear to practise 
Upon the oonquer'd ? What have you omitted. 
That may call on their just revenge witli horror. 
And studied cruelty ? we have gone too far 
To think now of retiring ; in our courage. 
And daring, lies our safety : if you are not 
Slaves in your abject minds, as in your fortunes, 
Since to die is the worst, better expose 
Our naked breasts to their keen swords, and sell 
Our lives with the most advantage, than to trust 
In a forestall'd remission, or yield up 
Our bodies to the furnace of their tiury, 
Thrice heated with revenge. 

Grae. You led us on. 

Cimb. And 'tis but justice you should bring us 

Grae, And we expect it [off. 

Atar, Hear then, and obey me ; 
And I will either save you, or fall writh you. 
Man the walls strongly, and make good the ports ; 
Boldly deny their entrance, and rip up 
Your grievances, and what compell'd you to 
This desperate course : if they disdain to hear 
Of composition, we have in our powers 
Their aged fathers, children, and their wives, 
Who, to preserve themselves, must willingly 
Make intercession for us. 'Tis not time now 
To talk, but do : a glorious end, or freedom. 
Is now proposed ns ; stand resolved for either. 
And, like good fellows, live or die together. 


SCENE IV The Country near Syracvbe, 

The Camp o/Timolkon. 

Enter Lsosnuufas and TiuAOomAM. 

Timag. 1 am so far from envy, I am proud 
You have outstripp'd me in the race of honour. 
O 'twas a glorious day, and bravely won I 
Your bold performance gave such lustre to 
Timoleon's wise directions, as the army 
Rests doubtful, to whom they stand most engaged 
For their so great success. 

Leo^. The gods first honour'd. 
The glory be the general's ; 'tis &r from me 
To be his rival. 

Timag. You abuse your fbrtune, 
To entertain her choice and gracious favovra 
With a contracted brow ; plumed Victory 
Is truly painted with a cheerful look. 



ACT rr. 

Equally distant from proud insolence. 
And base dejection. 

Least. O, Timagoras, 
You only are acquainted with the cause 
That loads my sad heart with a hill of lead ; 
Whose ponderous weight, neither my new-got 
Assisted by the general applause [honour. 

The soldier crowns it widi, nor all war's glories, 
Oin lessen or remove : and, would you please, 
"With fit consideration, to remember 
Mow much I wrong'd Cleora's innocence 
With my rash doubts ; and what a grierous penance 
She did impose upon her tender sweetness, 
To pluck away the Tultnre, jealousy. 
That fed upon my liver ; you cannot blame me, 
But call it a fit justice on myself. 
Though I resolve to be a stranger to 
The Uiought of mirth or pleasure. 

Timag. Yon have redeemed 
The forfeit of yonr ftiult with such a ransom 
Of honourable action, as my sister 
Must of necessity confess her sufferings. 
Weighed down by your fair merits ; and, when she 

views yon, 
Like a triumphant conqueror, carried through 
The streets of Syracusa, the glad people 
Pressing to meet you, and the senators 
Contending who shall heap most honours on you ; 
The oxen, crown'd with garlands, led before you, 
Appointed for the sacrifice ; and the altars 
Smoaking with thankful incense to the gods : 
The soldiers chanting loud hymns to your praise. 
The windows fiU'd with matrons and with virgins, 
Throwing upon your head, as you pass by, 
The choicest flowers, and silently invoking 
The queen of love, with their particular vows, 
To be thought worthy of you ; can Cleora 
(Though, in the glass of self-love, she behold 
Her bat deserts) but with all joy acknowledge, 

What she endured was but a noble trial 
You made of her affection ? and her anger. 
Rising from your too amorous cares, soon drench'd 
In Lethe, and foi^tten. 

Leott. If those glories 
You so set forth were mine, they might plead for 
But I can lay no claim to the least honour [me ; 
Which you, with foul injustice, ravish ftt)m her. 
Her beauty in me wrought a miracle. 
Taught me to aim at things beyond my power. 
Which her perfections purchased, and gave to ma 
From her free bounties ; she inspired me with 
That valour which I dare not call mine own ; 
And, from the fair reflection of her mind. 
My soul received the sparkling beams of courage- 
She, from the magazine of her proper goodness, 
Stock'd me with virtuous purposes ; sent me forth 
To trade for honour ; and, she being the owner 
Of the bark of my adventures, I must yield her 
A just account of all, as fits a factor. 
And, howsoever others think me happy. 
And cry aloud, I have made a prosperous voyage ; 
One frown of her dialike at my return, 
Which, as a punishment for my fault, I look for, 
Strikes dead all comfort. 

TSmag. Tush ! these fears are needless ; 
She cannot, must not, shall not» be so crueL 
A free confession of a fault wins pardon. 
But, being seconded by desert, commands it. 
The general is your own, and, sure, my father 
Repents his harshness ; for myself, 1 am 
Ever your creature. — One day shall be happy 
In your triumph, and your marriage. 

Leoii. May it prove so, 
With her consent and pardon. 

Timag, Ever touching 
On that harsh string ! She is your own, and you 
Without disturbance seize on what's your due. 


SCENE I. — Syracuse. A Room in Archi- 
damus'b House, 

Enter MAarLLO and TiMAirsaA. 

Mar. She has her health, then ? 

Timand, Yes, sir ; and as often 
As I speak of you, lends attentive ear 
To all that I deliver ; nor seems tired. 
Though I dwell long on the relation of 
Your sufferings for her, heaping praise on praise 
On yonr unequall'd temperance, and command 
You hold o*er your affections. 

Mar, To my wish : 
Have you acquainted her with the defeature 
Of the Carthaginians, and with what honours 
Leosthenes comes crown'd home with ? 

THmand. With all care. 

Mar, And how does she receive it ? 

THmand. As I guess. 
With a seeming kind of joy ; but yet appears not 
Transported, or proud of Ms happy fortune. 
But when I tell her of the certain ruin 
You must encounter with at their arrival 
In Syncusa, and that death, with torments, 
Must fall upon you, which you yet repent not* 

Esteeming it a glorious martyrdom. 
And a reward of pure unspotted love. 
Preserved in the white robe of innocence. 
Though she were in your power ; and, still spurr'd 
By insolent lust, you rather chose to suffer [on 
The fruit nntasted, for whose glad possession 
You have call'd on the fury of your lord. 
Than that she should be grieved, or tainted in 
Her reputation 

Mar, Doth it work compunction ? 
Pities she my misfortune ? 

Timand, She expressed 
All signs of sorrow which, her vow observed. 
Could witness a grieved heart. At the first hear* 

She fell upon her face, rent her fair hair. 
Her hands held up to heaven, and vented sighs 
In which she silently seem'd to complain 
Of heaven's injustice. 

Mar, 'Tis enough : wait carefully, 
And, on all watch'd occasions, continue 
Speech and discourse of me : 'tis time must work 

Timand, I'll not be wanting, but still strive to 

serve you. [ExiU 




Enter Pouranow. 

Mar. Now, PoliphroD, the newi ? 
Foliph. The coDquering army 
Ii within ken. 
Mar, How brook the slaves the object ? 
Poiiph. Cheerfully yet; they do refuse no 
AnA seem to scoff at danger ; 'tis your ])re8ence 
Xliat must confirm them : with a full consent 
Ycxi are dioseo to relate the tyranny 
Of oar proud masters ; and what you subscribe to, 
T^iey gladly will allow of, or hold out 
To the last man. 

Mar, m instantly among them. 
IC we proTe constant to ourrclves, good fortune 
^^iii not, I hope, forsake us. 

PoUph. 'Us our best refuge. IBxtunt. 

SCENB II. — Before the WalU <nf Stracusb. 

BmUr TiaoLROiv, AncRiDAMUs, Dipbilus, LnMTMBwn, 
TiMAQOiiAS, and Soldiers. 

Timoi, Thus for we are retum'd Tictorious ; 
"With wreaths triumphant, (famine, blood, and 

Banish'd your peaceful confines,) and bring home 
Security and peace. 'Tis therefore fit 
That such as boldly stood the shock of war, 
And with the dear expense of sweat and blood 
Have purchased honour, should with pleasure reap 
The harvest of their toil : and we stand bound. 
Out of the first file of the best deserve rs, 
(Though all must be considered to their merits,) 
To think of you, Leosthenes, that stand, 
And worthily, most dear in our esteem, 
I For your heroic valour. 

ArchitL When I look on 
The labour of so many men and ages, 
This well-built city, not long since design'd 
To spoil and rapine, by the favour of 
The gods, and you, their ministers, preserved, 
I cannot, in my height of joy, but offer 
These tears for a glad sacrifice. 

Diph. Sleep the citizens ? 
Or are they overwhelmed with the excess 
Of comfort that flows to them ? 

Leo9t. We receive 
A silent entertainment. 

Timag, I long since 
Expected that Uie virgins and the matrons. 
The old men striving with their age, the priests, 
Carrying the images of their gods before them, 
Should have met us with procession. — Ha! the 

Are shut against us \ 

Archid. And, upon the walls, 
Arm'd men seem to defy us ! 

Emttr ab<nfe, on the Walh, MAninxn, Poliphron, Cimbrio, 
GiiACCVU), and other Slaves. 

Diph. I should know 
These fisces : they are our slaves. 

Timag. The mystery, rascals ! 
Open the ports, and play not with aa anger 
That will consume you. 

Timol. This is above wonder. 

Archid, Our bondmen stand agtinit vs I 

Grae, Some such things 

We were in man's remembrance. The slaves are 

Lords of the town, or so — nay, be not angry : 
Perhaps, upon good terms, giving security 
You will be quiet men, we may allow you 
Some lodgings in our garrets or outhouses : 
Your great looks cannot carry it. 

Cimb, The truth is, 
We've been bold with your wives, toy'd with your 

Leott, O my prophetic soul ! [daughters— 

Grac, Rifled your chests, 
Been busy with your wardrobes. 

Timag, Can we endure this ? 

Leost, O my Cleora ! 

Grae, A caudle for the gentleman ; 
He'll die o' the pip else. 

Timag, Scom'd too ! are you tum'd stone i 
Hold parley with our bondmen ! force our entrance, 
Then, villains, expect 

Timd. Hold ! You wear men's shapes, 
And if, like men, you have reason, shew a cause 
That leads you to this desperate course, which must 
In your destruction. [end 

Grae, That, as please the Fates ; 
But we vouchsafe Speak, captain. 

Timag, Hell and furies I 

Archid, Bay'd by our own curs I 

Cimb, Take heea you be not worried. 

Poiiph, We are sharp set. • 

Cimb. And sudden. 

Mar, Briefly thus, then, 
Since I must speak for alL — Your tyranny 
Drew us from our obedience. Happy those times 
Wh n lords were styled fathers of families. 
And not imperious masters I when they number'd 
Their servants almost equal with their sons, 
Or one degree beneath them ! when their labours 
Were cherish'd and rewarded, and a period 
Set to their sufferings ; when they did not press 
Their duties or their wills, beyond the power 
And strength of their performance! all things 
With such decorum, as wise lawmakers, [onler'd 
From each well-govem'd private house derived 
The perfect model of a commonwealth. 
Humanity then lodged in the hearts of men. 
And thankful masters carefully provided 
For creatures wanting reason. The noble horse. 
That, in his fiery youth, from bis wide nostrils 
Neigh'd courage to his rider, and brake through 
Groves of opposed pikes, bearir)g his lord 
Safe to triumphant victory ; old or wounded. 
Was set at liberty, and freed from service. 
The Athenian mules, that from the quarry drew 
Marble, hew'd for the temples of the gods. 
The great work ended, were dismiss'd, and fed 
At the public cost ; nay, faithful dogs have found 
Their sepulchres ; but man, to man more cruel. 
Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave; 
Since pride stepp'd in and riot, and o'erturn'd 
This goodly frame of concord, teaching masters 
To glory in the abuse of such as are 
Brought under their command ; who, grown un- 

Are less esteem 'd than beasts. — This you have 

Practised on us with rigour ; this hath forced us 
To shake our heavy yokes off ; and, if redress 
Of these just grievances be not granted us, 
We'll right ourselves, and by strong hand defead 
T^liat we are now possessed of. 




Grac. And not leave 
One house unfired. 

Cimb, Or throat uncut of those 
We have in our power 

Paiiph. Nor will we fall alone ; 
You shall buy us dearly. 

Timag, O the god« ! 
Unheard-of insolence ! 

Timol. What are your demands ? 

Mar, A general pardon first, for all offences 
Committed in your absence. Liberty 
To all such as desire to make return 
Into their countries ; and, to those that stay, 
A competenite of land freely allotted 
To each man's proper use, no lord acknowledged : 
Lastly, with your consent, to choose them wives 
Out of your families. 

Timojf, Let the city sink first. 

LeosL And ruin seize on all, ere we subscribe 
To such conditions. 

Arehid, Carthage, thougih victorious. 
Could not have forced more firom us. 

Leott, Scale the walls ; 
Capitulate after. 

Timol, He that wins the top first 
Shall wear a mural wreath. \,Bxetint. 

Mar. Each to his place. [FlourUh and alarms. 

Or death or victory 1 Chaige thejn home, and fiear 

not. lExeutU Mabuux) aiic< Slaves. 

Re-ttUer Timolioiv, Archidamus, and Senators. 

Titnol. We wrong ourselves, and we are justly 
To deal with bondmen, as if we encounter'd 
An equal enemy. 

ArehUL They fight like devils ; 
And run upon our swords, as if their breasts 
Were proof beyond their armour. 

Re-enUr L a usn aa wMs and TunAaoaas. 

Timag, Make a firm stand. 
The slaves, not satisfied they have beat us off, 
Prepare to sally forth. 

Timol, They are wild beasts. 
And to be tamed by policy. Each man take 
A tough whip in his hand, such as you used 
To punish them with, as masters : in your looks 
Carry severity and awe ; 'twill fright them 
More than your weapons. Savage lions fly firom 
The sight of fire ; and these, that have forgot 
That duty you ne*er taught them with your swords. 
When, unexpected, they behold those terrors 
Advanced aloft, that they were made to shake at, 
*Twill force them to remember what they are, 
And stoop to due obedience. 

Archtd. Here they come. 

Enter, /)rom ike CU9t CiMBaio, Gsaoculo, and oOur Slaves. 

Cimb. Leave not a man alive ; a wound's but a 
To what we suffer'd being slaves. [flea-biting, 

Grae. O, my heart ! 
Cimbrio, what do we see ? the whip ! our masters \ 

Timag, Dare you rebdi, slaves ! 

[The Senators shake their utkipe^ Ike Slaves tkraw awajf 
their weapons, and run <{if. 

Cimb, Mercy ! mercy ! where 
Shall we hide ns from their fury ? 

Grac, Fly, they follow. 
O. we shall be tormented ! 

Timol, Enter with them, 
But yet forbear to kill them : still remember 

They are pnrt of your wealth ; and being disarmed, 
There is no danger. 

Archid, Let us first deliver 
Such as they have in fetters, and at leisure 
Determine of their punishment. 

Least. Friend, to yon 
1 Ic ive the dispoeitioti of what's mine : 
I cannot think 1 am safe without your sister, 
She is only worth my thought ; and, till 1 see 
What she has suffer'd, I am on the rack. 
And Furies my tormentors. IBxamL 


■Syracuse. A Room in Arcbi- 


Enter Maruixo and TiHAiroRA. 

Mar. I know I am pursued ; nor would I fly. 
Although the ports were open, and a convoy 
Ready to bring me off : the baseness of 
These villains, from the pride of all my hopee. 
Hath thrown me to the bottomless abyss 
Of horror and despair : had they stood firm, 
I could have bought Cleora's free consent 
With the safety of her father's life, and brother's ; 
And forced Leosthenes to quit his claim. 
And kneel a suitor for me. 

Timand. You must not think 
What might have been, but what must now be 

And suddenly resolve. 

Mar. All my poor fortunes 
Are at the stake^ and I must run the hazard. 
Unseen, convey me to Cleora's chamber ; 
For in her sight, if it were possible, 
I would be apprehended : do not enquire 
The reason why, but help me. IKnoeking witkin. 

Tunand. Make haste. — one knocks. 

lExit MAacLui. 
Jove turn all to the best ! 

Enter Laonvaincs. 

You are welcome, sir. 

Leoet, Thou giv'st it in a heavy tone. 

Timand, Alas ! sir. 
We have so long fed on thi^ bread of sorrow. 
Drinking the bitter water of afflictions. 
Made loathsome too by our continued fears. 
Comfort's a stranger to us. 

Least. Fears I your sufferings : — 
For which I am so overgone with grief, 
I dare not ask, without compassionate tears. 
The villain's name that robb d thee of thy honour : 
For being train'd up in chastity's cold school, 
And taught by such a mistress as Cleora, 
'Twere impious in nie to think Timandra 
Fell with her own consent. 

Timattd. How mean you, fell, sir ? 
I understand you not. 

Least. I would thou did*st not. 
Or that I could not read upon thy £soe. 
In blushing characters, the story of 
Libidinous rape : confess it, for you stand not 
Accountable for a sin, against whose strength 
Your o'ermatch'd innocence could make no resist- 
Under which odds, I know, Cleora fell too, [ance ; 
Heaven's help in vain invoked ; the amazed aun 
Hiding his face behind a mask of clouds, 
Nor daring to look on it ! In her sufferings 
All scHTOw's comprehended : what Timandra. 

Or the city, has endured, her loss consider*d, 
Desenres not to be named. 

Timand. Pray you, do not bring, sir, 
In the chime ras of your jealous fears, 
New monsters to affright us. 

LeotL O, Timandra, 
That 1 had faith enough but to believe thee ! 
I Ahonid receive it wi^ a joy beyond 
Assuranee of Elysian shades hereafter, 
Or all the blessings, in this life, a mother 
Conkt wish her children crown 'd with — but I must 
C*redit impossibilities ; yet I strive [not 

To find out that whose knowledge is a curse, 
And ignorance a blessing. Come, discover 
Vhat kind of look he had that forced thy lady, 
(Thy ravisher I will enquire at leisure,) 
That when, hereafter, I behold a stranger 
But near him in aspect, I may conclude. 
Though men and angels should proclaim him 
He is a hell-bred villain. [honest, 

Timumd, You are unworthy 
To know she is preserved, preserved untainted : 
Sorrow, but ill bestow'd, hath only made 
A rape upon her comforts in your absence. 
Come forth, dear madam. ILeads im Clroha. 

Leo$L Ha ! IKneds. 

Timand, Nay, she deserves 
The bending of your heart ; that, to content you, 
Hail kept a vow, the breach of which a Vestal, 
Though the infringing it had call'd upon her 
A living funeral, must of force have shrunk at. 
No danger could compel her to dispense with 
Her cruel |»enance, though hot lust came arm*d 
To seixe u|K>n hiT ; wlien one look or accent 
Might have redeemed her. 

Leoit. Might ! O do not shew me 
A beam of comfort, and straight take it from me. 
I The means by which she was freed? speak, O 
speak quickly ; 
Each minute of delay's an age of torment ; 

speak, Timandra. 
Timaiid, Free her from her oath ; 

Herself can best deliver it 

Leoti. O blest office ! iUnbind* her eye*. 

Never did galley-slave shake oft his chains. 
Or luok'd on his redemption from the oar, 
With such true feeling of delight, as now 

1 find myself possess'd of. — Now I behold 
True light indeed ; for, since these fairest stars, 
Cover'd with clouds of your determinate will, 
Denied their influence to my optic sense. 
The splendour of the sun appeared to me 
But as some little glimpse of his bright beams 
Convey*d into a dungeon, to remember 
The dark inhabitants there, how much they wanted. 
Open these long-shut lips, and strike mine ears 
'^'ith music more harmonious than the spheres 
Yield in their heavenly motions : and if ever 
A true submission for a crime acknowledged. 
May find a gracious hearing, teach your tongue. 
In the first sweet articulate sounds it utters. 
To sign my wish'd-for pardon. 

Clfo, I forgive you. 

Leoti. How greedily I receive this ! Stsy, best 
And let me by degrees ascend the height [lady, 
Of human happiness ! all at once deliver'd. 
The torrent of my joys will overwhelm me : — 
So ! now a little more ; and pray excuse me. 
If, like a wanton epicure, I desire 
The pleasant taste these cates of comfort yield me. 

Should not too soon be swsllow'd. Hnve yon not. 
By your unspotted truth I do conjure you 
To answer truly, suffer'd in your honour. 
By force, I mean, for in your will I free yon. 
Since I left Syracnsa ? 

Cleo, I restore 
This kiss, so help me goodness ! which I borrow'd, 
When I last saw you. 

Leott, Miracle of virtue ! 
One pause more, I beseech you : I am like 
A man whose vital spirits consumed and wasted 
With a long and tedious fever, unto whom 
Too much of a strong cordial, at once taken. 
Brings death, and not restores him. Yet I cannot 
Fix here ; but must enquire the man to whom 
I stand indebted for a benefit, 
Which to requite at full, though in this hand 
I grasp all sceptres the world's empire cows to. 
Would leave me a poor bankrupt. Name him, lady 1 
If of a mean estate. Til gladly part with 
My utmost fortunes to him ; but if noble. 
In thankful duty study how to serve him ; 
Or if of higher rank, erect him altars. 
And as a god adore him* 

Cleo, If that goodness. 
And noble temperance, the queen of virtues. 
Bridling rebellious psssions, to whose sway, 
Such ss have conquered nations have lived slaves. 
Did ever wing great minds to fly to heaven. 
He, that preserved mine honour, may hope boldly 
To fill a seat dmoifg the gods, and shake off 
Our frail corruption. 

Leoti, Forward. 

Cleo, Or if ever 
The Powers above did mask in human shapes. 
To teach mortality, not by cold precepts 
Forgot as soon as told, but by ezsniples. 
To imitate their puroness, and draw near 
To their celestial natures, 1 believe 
He's more than man. 

Least, You do describe a wonder. 

CUo, Which will encrease, when you shall un- 
He wa« a lover. [derstand 

Least, Not yours, lady ? 

Cieo, Yes ; 
Loved me, Leosthenes ; nay, more, so doted, 
(If e'er affections scorning gross desires 
May without wrong be styled so,) that he durst not, 
With an immodest Myllable or louk. 
In fear it might take from me, whom he made 
The object of his better part, discover 
I was the saint he sued to. 

Leosl. A rare temper ! 

Cl*'0, 1 cannot speak it to the worth : all praise 
I can bestow upon it will appear 
£nviou8 detraction. Not to rack you further. 
Yet make the miracle fiiil, though, of all men. 
He hated you, Leosthenes, as his rival. 
So high yet he prized my content, that, knowing 
You were a man I favour'd, he disdaiu'u not. 
Against himself, to serve you. 

Leost, You conceal still 
The owner of these excellencies. 

CUo, 'Tis Marullo, 
My father's bondman. 

Leost, Ha. ha, ha ! 

CUo, Why do you laugh ? 

Leost. To hear the labouring mountain of yonr 
Deliver'd of a mouse. 





Cleo. The man deserves not 
This scorn, 1 can assore yon. 

Least. Do you call 
What waa his duty, merit ? 

Cleo. Yes, and place it 
As high in my esteem, as all the honours 
Descended from your ancestors, or the glory, 
Which you may call your own, got in this action, 
In which, I must confess, you have done nobly ; 
And I could add, as I desired, but that 
I fear 'twould make you proud. 

Leoti. Why, lady, can you 
Be won to give allowance, that your slave 
Should dare to love you ? 

CUa, The immortal gods 
Accept the meanest altars, that are raised 
By pure devotions ; and sometimes prefer 
An ounce of firankincense, honey or milk, 
Before whole hecatombs, or Sabsan gums, 
Offer'd in ostentation. — Are you sick 
Of your old disease 1 1*11 fit you. 

Leosi. You seem moved. 

Cleo, Zealous, 1 grant, in the defence of virtue. 
Why, good Leosthenes, though I endured 
A penance for your sake, above example ; 
I have not so fiur sold myself, I take it, 
To be at your devotion, but I may 
Cherish desert in others, where I find it. 
How would you tyrannize, if you stood possess'd of 
That which is only yours in expectation, 
That now prescribe such hard condidoqs to me ? 

Leosi, One kiss, and I am silenced. 

Cleo. I vouchsafe it ; 
Yet, I must tell you 'tis a favour that 
MaruUo, when I was his, not mine own. 
Durst not presume to ask : no ; when the city 
Bow'd humbly to licentious rapes and lust, 
And when I was, of men and gods forsaken, 
Deliver'd to his power, he did not press me 
To grace him with one look or syllable, 
Or urged the dispensation of an oath 
Made for your satisfaction : — the poor wretch, 
Having related only his own sufferings. 
And kis8*d my hand, which I could not deny him, 
Defending me from others, never since 
Solicited my fiivours. 

Least, Pray yon end : 
The story does not please me. 

CUa, WeU, take hf ed 
Of doubts and fears ; — for know, Leosthenes, 
A greater injury cannot be offer'd 
To innocent chastity, than unjust suspicion. 
I love Marullo*s fair mind, not his person ; 
Let that secure you. And I here command you. 
If I have any power in you, to stand 
Between him and all pumshment, and oppose 

His temperance to his folly ; if you fail 

No more ; I will not threaten. {BxU. 

Least, What a bridge 
Of glass I walk upon, over a river 
Of certain ruin, mine own weighty fears [helps. 
Cracking what should support me ! and those 
Which confidence lends to others, are from me 
Ravish'd by doubts, and wilful jealousy. [J&rit 

SCENE W,— Another Room in the same. 
KtUsr TiMAOoaAS, Clbom, Aaonm, Combca, and Olymha. 
Clean. But are you sure we are safe ? 
Timat/, You need not fear : 

They are all under guard, their fangs pared off : 
The wounds their insolence gave you, to be cured 
With the balm of your revenge. 

Asat, And shall I be 
The thing I was bom, my lord ? 

Timag, The same wise thing. 
'Slight, what a beast they have made thee f 
Produced the like. [Africk never 

Asat. I think so : — ^nor the land 
Where apes and monkeys grow, like crabs and 

On the same tree. Not all the catalogue 
Of conjurers or wise women bound together 
Could have so soon transform 'd me, as my rascal 
Did with his whip ; for not in outside only. 
But in my own belief, I thought myself 
As perfect a baboon 

Timag, An ass thou wert ever. 

Asot, And would have given one leg, with all 
my heart. 
For good security to have been a man 
After three lives, or one and twenty years. 
Though 1 had died on crutches. 

Cleifn, Never varlets 
So triumph'd o'er an old fat man : 1 was famish'd. 

Timag, Indeed you are fiiUen away. 

Asat Three years of feeding 
On cuUises and jelly, though his cooks 
Lard all he eats with marrow, or his doctors 
Pour in his mouth restoratives as he sleeps. 
Will not recover him. 

Timag, But your ladyship looks 
Sad on the matter, as if you had miss'd 
Your ten-crown amber possets, good to smooth 
The cutis, as you call it, and prepare you 
Active, and high, for an afternoon's encounter 
With a rough gamester, on your couch. Fie on't I 
You are grown thrifty, nmell like other women ; 
The collie of physicians have not sat. 
As they were used, in counsel, how to fill 
The crannies in your cheeks, or raise a rampire 
With mummy, ceruses, or infants' fat. 
To keep off age and time. 

Caris, Pray you, forbear ; 
I am an alter'd woman. 

Timag. So it seems ; 
A part of your honour's ruff stands out of rank 

Catis. No matter, I have other thoughts. 

Timag, O strange ! 
Not ten days since it would have vex'd you more 
Than the loss of your good name : pity, this cure 
For your proud itch came no sooner ! Marry, 
Seems to bear up still. [Olympia 

Olymp. I complain not, sir ; 
I have borne my fortune patiently. 

Timag, Thou wert ever 
An excellent bearer ; so is all your tribe, 
If you may choose your carriage. 

BiiUr LBoaraaifas ami DiraiLus with a Guard. 

How now, friend 1 
Looks our Cleora lovely ? 

Least. In my thoughts, sir. 

Timag. But why this guard ? 

Diph. It is Timoleon's pleasure : 
The slaves have been examin'd, and confess 
Their riot took beginning from your house ; 
And the first mover of them to rebellion. 
Your slave MaruUo. [Rxtunt Djpm. and Guard 

iBmi i« 



Leogi, Hm ! I more than fear. 
TImag. They may search boldly. 

EnUr TiMAiVDiu, speaking to the Guard vilhin, 

Timand* Yoa are unmanner^d grooms, 
To prr into my Udy's private lodgings ; 
Hm • no Mamlloa there. 

Bi-tnter DirBii.ut, and Guard with Marulu). 

THmag. Now I suspect too. 
Inhere found you him ? 

Dipk. Close hid in your sister's chamber. 

Timag, Is that the villain's sanctuary ? 

iteoii. This confirms 
An she delivered false. 

Timag. But that I scorn 
^o rust my good sword in thy slavish blood, 
*t*hoa now wert dead. 

Mmr, He*s more a slave than fortune 
Or misery can make me, that insults 
Xjpon unweapon'd innocence. 

Tiwutg. Prate, you dog ! 

Mar. Curs snap at lions in the toil, whose looks 
Frighted them, being free. 

Timag, As a wild beast. 
Drive him before vou. 

Mar. O divine Cleora ! 

Leoti. Dar'st thou presume to name her ? 

Mar, Yes, and love her ; 
And may say, have deserved her. 

Timag, Stop his mouth. 
Load him with irons too. 

lExU Guard with MAauLrxi. 

Cieon. I am deadly sick 
To look on him. 

Atot. If he get loose, I know it, 
I caper like an ape again : I feel 
The whip already. 

Timand. This goes to my lady. [Exit, 

Timag. Come, cheer you, sir; we'll ur^ge hia 
To the full satisfaction of your anger. 

Lewt. He is not worth my thoughts. No 
comer left 
In all the spacious rooms of my vez'd heart, 
But is liird with Cleora : and the rape 
She has done upon her honour, with my wrong. 
The heavy burthen of my sorrow's song. iBxtmnt. 


SCENE I. — The same. A Room in Archi- 


Bmter Archidamu* and Clbora. 

Arehid. Thou art thine own disposer. Were 
hi« honours 
And glories centupled, as I roust confess, 
Leosthenes is most worthy, yet I will not. 
However I may counsel, force afTeotion. 

Clco. It needs not, sir ; I prize him to his 
Nay, love him truly ; yet would not live slaved 
To his jealous humours : since, by the hopes of 

As I am free from violence, in a thought 
I am not guilty. 

Arehid, 'Tis believed, Cleora ; 
And much the rather, our great gods be praised 
In that I find, beyond my hopes, no sign [for't ! 
Of riot in my house, but all things order'd. 
As if I had been present. 

Cleo. May that move you 
To pity poor Marullo ! 

Arehid, 'Tis my purpose 
To do him all the good I can, Cleora ; 
Bnt this offence, being against the state, 
Must have a public trial. In the mean time. 
Be careful of yourself, and stand engaged 
N*> further to Leosthenes, than you may 
Come off with honour ; for, being once his wife, 
You are no more your own, nor mine, but must 
Resolve to serve, and suffer hia commands. 
And not dispute them : — ere it be too late. 
Consider it duly. 1 must to the senate. \,F.xH. 

Cleo. 1 am much distracted : in Leosthenes, 
I ran find nothing justly to accuse. 
But his excess of love, which I have studied 
To cure with more than common means ; yet still 
It grows upon him. And, if I may call 
My sufferings merit, I stand bound to think on 

MaruUo's dangers — though I save his life. 
His love is unrewarded : — 1 confess. 
Both have deserved me ; yet, of force, must be 
Unjust to one ; such is my destiny. — 

Enter Timandra. 

How now ! whence flow these tears } 

Timand. I have met, madam. 
An object of such cruelty, as would force 
A savage to compassion. 

Cleo. Speak, what is it ? 

Timand, Men pity beasts of rapine, if o'er- 
Though baited for their pleasure; but these 

Upon a man that can make no resistance. 
Are senseless in their tyranny. Let it be granted^ 
Marullo is a slave, he's still a man ; 
A capital offender, yet in justice 
Not to l)e tortur'd, till ilie judge pronounce 
His punibhment. 

Cleo Where is he ? 

Timand. Dragg'd to prison 
With more than barbarous violence ; spurn'd and 
By the insulting officers, his hands [spit on 

Pinion 'd behind his back ; loaden with fetters : 
Yet, with a saint-like patience, he still offers 
His face to their rude buffets. 

Cleo. O my grieved soul !— 
By whose command ? 

Timand. It seems, my lord your brother's, 
For he's a looker-on : and it takes from 
Honour'd Leosthenes, to suffer it, 
For his respect to you, whose name in vain 
The grieved wretch loudly calls on. 

Cleo. By Diana, 
'Tis base in both; and to their teeth I'U tell 

That I am wrong'd in't. laoing/brth 

Timand. What will you do ? 




Cleo, In person 
Visit and comfort him. 

Timand, That will bring fuel 
To the jealous fires which burn too hot already 
In lord Leosthenes. 

Cleo, Let them consume him ! 
I am mistress of m jself. Where cruelty reigns, 
There dwells nor love, nor honour. [SxU, 

Timand. So ! it works. 
Though hitherto I have run a desperate course 
To serve my brother's purposes, now 'tis fit 

Enter LnwrHBirB aud TniAOoaAS. 

I study mine own ends. They come : — assist me 
In these my undertakings. Love's great patron, 
As my intents are honest ! 

Leott, 'Tis my fault : 
Distrust of others springs, Timagoras, 
From diffidence in ourselves : but I will strive, 
With the assurance of my worth and merits. 
To kill this monster, jealousy. 

Timoft, 'Tisaguest, 
In wisdom, never to be entertain'd 
On trivial probabilities ; but, when 
He does appear in pregnant proofs, not fsshion'd 
By idle doubts and fears> to be received : 
They make their own horns that are too secure, 
As well as such as give them growth and being 
From mere imagination. Though I prize 
Cleora's honour equal with mine own. 
And know what large additions of power 
This match brings to our family, I prefer 
Our friendship, and your peace of mind so fu 
Above my own respects, or hers, that if 
She hold not her true value in the test, 
Tis far from my ambition, for her cure 
That you should wound 3rourself. 

Timand, Tliis argues for me. [Aiidt, 

Timag. Why she should be so passionate for a 
Falls not in compass of my understanding, 
But for some nearer interest : or he raise 
This mutiny, if he loved her, as, you say, 
She does confess he did, but to enjoy. 
By fair or foul play, what he ventured for. 
To me^s a riddle. 

Leott Pray you, no more ; already 
I have answered that objection, in my strong 
Assurance of her virtue. 

Timag. 'Tis unfit then. 
That I should press it further. 

Timand. Now I must 
Make in, or all is lost. iRuihet forward dittroetedlp. 

Timag. What would Timandra ? 

Leott. How wild she looks ! How is it with thy 

THmag. Collect thyself, and speak. 

Timand. As you are noble. 
Have pity, or love piety. — Oh I 

Leati. Take breath. 

Timag. Out with it boldly. 

Timand. O, the best of ladies, 
I fear, is gone for ever. 

LeoiL Who, Cleora ? 

Timag. Deliver, how ? 'Sdeath, be a man, sir! 
— S{)eak. 

Timand. Take it then in as many sight as words, 
My lady 

Timag. What of her? 

TirnawL No sooner heard 

Marullo was imprison'd. but she fell 
Into a deadly swoon. 

Timag. But she recovered : 
Say so, or he will sink too ; hold, sir ; fie ! 
This is unmanly. 

Timatui. Brought again to life. 
But with much labour, she awhile stood silent. 
Yet in that interim vented sighs, as if 
They labour 'd, from the prison of her flesh. 
To give her grieved soul freedom. On the sodden, 
Transported on the wings of rage and sorrow. 
She flew out of the hotue, and, unattended. 
Entered the common prison. 

Leott. This confirms 
What but before I fear'd. 

Timand. There you may find her ; 
And, if you love her as a sister 

Timag. Damn her ! 

Timand. Or you respect her safety as a lover. 
Procure Marullo's liberty. 

Timag. Impudence 
Beyond expression ! 

Leott. Shall I be a bawd 
To her lust, and my dishonour? 

Timand. She'll run mad, el?e, 
Or do some violent act upon herself : 
My lord, her father, sensible of her sufTcringa, 
Labours to gain his freedom. 

Lso^t, O, the devil ! 
Has she bewitch'd him too ? 

Timag. I'll hear no more. 
Come, sir, we'll follow her ; and if no persuasion 
Can make her take again her natural form. 
Which by lust^s powerful spell she has cast off. 
This sword shall disenchant her. 

Leott, O my heart-strings \ 

[Bi^eunt LaoflTHBinEB and Timaooiias^ 

Timand. I knew 'twould take. Pardon me, fair 
Though I appear a traitress ; which thou wilt do. 
In pity of my woes, when I make known 
My lailrful claim, and only seek mine own. [£Wf. 

SCENE II. — A Priton. Marullo diteovered 

in chaiTU. 

Enter Clbora and Gnoler. 

Cleo. There's for your privacy. Stay, unbind 

Gaol. I dare not, madam. [his hands. 

Cleo. I will buy thy danger. 
Take more gold ;--do not trouble me with thanks, 
I do suppose it done. IRxU Gaoler 

Mar. My better angel 
Assumes this shape to comfort me. and wisely ; 
Since, from the choice of all celestial figures, 
He could not take a visible form so full 
Of glorious sweetness. {Kneeit* 

Cleo. Rise. I am flesh and blood, 
And do partake thy tortures. 

Mar. Can it be. 
That charity should persuade you to descend 
So far from your own height, as to vouclisafe 
To look upon my sufferings ? How 1 bless 
My fetters now, and stand engaged to fortune 
For my captivity — no, my freedom, rather ! 
For who dare think that place a prison, which 
You ssnctit'y with your presence ? or believe, 
Sorrow has power to u»e her sting on him. 
That is in your compassion arm'd, and made 

II r. 



Impregiuible. though tyranny raise at onoe 
All enj^Des to aasault him ? 

CUo. Indeed virtue , 
With which you have made erident proofii that 

Are ftrongly fortified, cannot fall, though shaken 
With the shock of fierce temptations ; but still 

In spite of opposition. For myself, 
I may endeaTonr to confirm yonr goodness, 
(A sore retreat, which never will deceive you,) 
And with unfeigned tears express my souow 
For what I cannot help. 

Mar, Do yon weep for me ! 
O, save that precious balm for nobler uses : 
I am unworthy of the smallest drop. 
Which, in your prodigality of pitv. 
Ton throw away on me. Ten of these pearls 
Were a large ransom to redeem a kingdom 
FhHn a consuming plague, or stop heaven's ven- 
CaU'd down by crying sins, though, at that instant. 
In dreadful flashes falling on the roofs 
Of bold blasphemers. I am justly punish 'd 
For my intent of violence to such pureness ; 
And all the torments flesh is sensible of» 
A soft and gentle penance. 

€!€•. Which is ended 
In this your free confession. 

EinUr Lkwthbnbs and TiMAOoaAs bthind, 

Leoti, What an object 
Have I encountered ! 

Timag, I am blasted too : 
Yet hear a little further. 

Mar, Could I expire now. 
These white and innocent hands closing my eyes 

'Twere not to die, but in a heavenly dream 
To be transported, without the help of Charon, 
To the Elysian shades. You make me bold ; 
And, but to wish such happiness, 1 fear, 
May give offence. 

CUo, No ; for believe't, Marullo, 
You've won so much upon me, that I know not 
That happiness in my gift, but you may challenge. 

Leott, Are you yet satisfied ? 

Cleo, Nor can you wish 
But what my vows will second, though it were 
Yonr freedom first, and then in me full power 
To make a second tender of myself, 
And you receive the present. By this kiss, 
From me a virgin bounty, 1 will practise 
All arts for your deliverance ; and that purchased, 
In what concerns your further aims, I speak it. 

Do not despair, but hope 

[TiMAOoaAs and LaoffTHSMSS eome/oneartt. 

Timag, To have the hangman. 
When he is married to the cross, in scorn 
To say, Godt give you jog t 

Leo9i, But look on me. 
And be not too indulgent to your folly ; 
And then, but that grief stops my speech, imagine 
What Uinguage I should use. 

Cleo, Against thyself: 
Thy malice cannot reach me. 

Timag. How ? 

Cleo. No, brother, 
Though you join in tiie dialogue to accuse me : 
What 1 have done, I'll justify ; and these favours. 

Whirh, you presume, will taint me in my honour. 

Though jealousy use all her eyes to spy out 

One stain in my behaviour, or envy 

As many tongues to wound' it, shall appear 

My best perfections. For, to the world, 

I can in my defence allege such reasons^ 

As my accusers shall stand dumb to hear them ;. 

When in his fetters this msn's worth and virtues, 

But truly told, shall shame your boasted glories, 

Whirh fortune claims a share in. 

Timag. The base villain 
Shall never live to hear it. [Drawt his sword. 

Cleo. Murder 1 help 1 
Through me, you shall pass to him. 

EiUer AjtcRiDAMua, DrpHiLus, and Offloers. 

Arehid, What's the matter ? 
On whom is your sword drawn } are you a judge ? 
Or else ambitious of the hangman's office. 
Before it be design'd you ? — Yon are bold, too ; 
Unhand my daughter. 

LeosU She's my valour's prise. 

Arehid. With her iconsent, not otherwise. Yon 
may urge 
Your title in the court ; if it prove good. 
Possess her freely. — Guard him safely off too* 

Timag, You'll hear me, sir ? 

ArctUd. If yon have aught to say. 
Deliver it in public ; all shall find * 
A just judge of Timoleon. 

DtjpA. You must 
Of force now use yonr patience. 

[Exeunt all but Tiuaooslam and LaanrneMma^ 

Timag, Vengeance rather 1 
Whirlwinds of rage possess me : you are wrong'd 
Beyond a Stoic sufferance ; yet you stand 
As you were rooted. 

Leott, 1 feel something here. 
That boldly tells me, all the bve and service 
1 pay Cleora is another's due. 
And therefore cannot prosper. 

Timag, Melancholy \ 
Which now you must not yield to. 

Least. 'Tu apparent : 
In fact your sister's innocent, however 
Changed by her violent will. 

Timag. If you believe so. 
Follow the chase still ; and in open court 
Plead your own inteiest : we shall find the judge 
Our friend, 1 fear not. 

Leost. Something I shall say. 
But what 

Timag, Collect yourself as we walk thither. 


SCENE lU,—The Coftrt of .Justice, 
Enter Timolron. AacHiDAMVa, Clkora, and OfAcerSi 

Timol. 'Tis wonderous strange ! nor can it fall 
The reach of my belief, a slave should be 
The owner of a temperance which this age 
Can hardly parallel in freebom lords. 
Or kincK proud of their purple. 

A rchiti, 'Tis mont true ; 
And, though at first it did appear a fable. 
All circumstances meet to give it credit ! 
Which works so on me, that 1 am corofieird 
To be a suitor, not to be denied. 
He may have equal hearing. 




Cleo. Sir, jou graced me 
With the title of joar mistress ; bat my fortune 
Is so fiur distant from command, that I 
Lay by the power you gave me, and plead humbly 
For the preserver of my fame and hoBOur. 
Anu pray you, sir, in cliarity believe. 
That, nince 1 had ability of speech, 
My tongue has been so much inured to truth, 
I know not how to lie. 
Timol. I'll rather doubt 
I The orarles of the gods, than question what 
Your innocence delivers ; and as far 
As justice and mine honour can give way, 

He shall have favour. Bring him in unbound : 

lExeunt Officers. 

! And though Leosthenes may challenge from me, 
I For his late worthy service, credit to 
I All things he can aMege in his own cause, 
! Marullo, so, I think you call his name 
Shall find I do reserve one ear for him, 

EnUr Clbom, Asotos, Dipbilus, Oltmpu, and OoaiacA. 

To let in mercy. Sit, and take your places ; 
The right of this foir virgin first determined. 
Your bondmen shall be censured. 

Clean. With all rigour. 
We do expect. 

Corit. Tempered I say, with mercy. 

Enter at one door LBOsraBTneii and Timaooras: at the 
other, Offlcem vnth Mahulio, euui Timanmla. 

TimoL Your hand, Leostbenes : I cannot doubt. 
You, that have been victorious in the war. 
Should, in a combat fought with words, come off 
But with assured triumph. 

Leott. My deserts, sir. 
If, without arrogance, I may style them such, 
Arm me from doubt and fear. 

Timol. 'Tis nobly spoken. 
Nor be thou daunted (howsoe'er thy fortune 
Has roark'd thee out a slave) to speak thy merits : 
For virtue, though in rags, may challenge more 
Than vice, set off with all the trim of greatness. 
] Mar, I had rather fall under so just a judge. 
Than be acquitted by a man corrupt, 
And partial, in his censure. 

Arekid. Note his Language ; 
It relishes of better breeding than 
His present state dares promise. 

TimoL I observe it. 
Place the fair lady in the midst, that both, 
Ixioking with covetous eyes upon the prize 
They are to plead for, may, from the fair object. 
Teach Hermes eloquence. 

Least. Am I fallen so low ? 
My birth, my honour, and, what's dearest to me. 
My love, and witness of my love, my service, 
S«) undervalued, that I must contend 
With one. where my excess of glory must 
Make his o*erthrow a conquest ? Shall my fulness 
Supply defects in such a thing, that never 
Knew anything but want and emptiness ? 
Give him a name, and keep it such, from this 
Unequal compftition ? If my pride, 
Or any bold assurance of my worth. 
Has pluck'd this mountain of disgrace upon me, 
I am justly punish*d, and submit ; but if 
I have been modest, and esteem'd myself 
More injured in the tribute of the praise, 
Which no desert of mine, prized by self-love. 
Ever exacted, may this cause and minute 

For ever be forgotten ! I dwell long 
Upon mine anger, and now turn to yon. 
Ungrateful fair one ; and, since you are inch, 
'Tis lawful for me to proclaim myself, 
And what I have deserved. 

Cleo. Neglect and scorn 
From me, for this proud vaunt. 

Least. Yon nourish, lady, 
Your own dishonour in this hanh reply. 
And almost prove what some hold of your uol, 
You are all made up of passion : for, if reason 
Or judgment could find entertainment with yon. 
Or that you would distinguish of the objects 
Yon look on, in a true glass, not seduced 
By the false light of your too violent will, 
I should not need to plead for that which you. 
With joy, should offer. Is my high birth a 

blemish ? 
Or does my wealth, which all the vain expense 
Of women cannot waste, breed loathing in you ? 
The honoura I can call mine own, thought scan- 
Am I deform 'd, or, for my father's sins, [dais ? 
Mulcted by nature.' If you interpret these 
As crimes, 'tis fit I should yield up myself 
Most miserably guilty. But, perhaps, 
(Which yet I would not credit,) you have seen 
This gallant pitch the bar, or bear a burthen 
Would crack the shouldere of a weaker bondman : 
Or any other boisterous exercise. 
Assuring a strong back to satisfy 
Your loose desires, insatiate as the grave. 

Cleo. Yon are foul-mouth'd. 

Arehid. Ill*manner'd too. 

Leost. I speak 
In the way of supposition, and entreat yon. 
With all the fervour of a constant lover, 
That you would free yourself from these asperaions 
Or any imputation black-tongued slander 
Could throw on your unspotted virgin whiteness : 
To which there b no easier way, than by 
Vouchsafing him your favour ; him, to whom, 
Next to the general, and the gods and foutorsy 
The country owes her safety. 

Timag, Are you stupid ? 
'Slight, leap into his arms, and there ask pardon— 
Oh ! you expect your slave's reply ; no doubt 
W^e shall liave a fine oration : I will teach 
My spaniel to howl in sweeter language, 
And keep a better method. 

ArchCi. You forget 
The dignity of the place. 

Dipk. Silence ! 

Timol, [to Marullo.] Speak boldly. 

Mar. 'Tis your authority gives me a tongue, 
I should be dumb else ; and 1 am secure, 
I cannot clothe my thoughte, and just defence. 
In such an abject phrase, but 'twiU appear 
Equal, if not above my low condition. 
1 need no bombast language, stolen from such 
As make nobility from prodigious terms 
The hearers underatand not ; I bring with me 
No wealth to boast of, neither can 1 number 
Uncertain fortune's favours with my merits ; 
1 dare not force affection, or presume 
To censure her discretion, that looks on me 
As a weak man, and not her fancy's idol. 
How I have loved, and how much I have suffer'd, 
And with what pleasure undergone the burthen 
Of my ambitious hopes, (in einiinf; at 
The glad pussessiou of a happiness. 

The abstract of all goodness in mankind 
Can at no part deserve,) with mj confession ^ 
Of mine own wants, is all that can plead for me 
Bnt if Uiat pure desires, not blended with 
Foul thoughts, that, like a riyer, keeps his course. 
Retaining still the cleaFness of the spring 
From whence it took beginning, may be thought 
Worthy acceptance ; then I dare rise up, 
And tell this gay man to his teeth, I never 
Durst doubt her constancy, that, like a rock. 
Beats off temptations, as that mocks the fury 
Of the proud waves ; nor, from my jealous fears, 
Question that goodness to which, as an altar 
Of all perfection, he that 'truly loved 
Should rather bring a sacrifice of service. 
Than raze it with the engines of suspicion : 
Of which, when he can wash an JSthiop white, 
Leosthenes may hope to free himself ; 
But, till then, never. 

Tinuiff. Bold, presumptuous villain ! 

Afar. I will go further, and make good upon 
I* the pride of all his honours, birth, and fortunes, 
He's more unworthy than myself. 

Leoti, Thou liest. 

Timaff. Confute him with a whip, and, the 
Punish him with a halter. [doubt decided, 

Mar. O the gods ! 
My ribs, though made of brass, cannot contain 
My heart, swollen big with rage. The lie ! — a 

whip ! — 
Let fury then disperse these clouds, in which 
I long have march 'd disguised; [Throwt off hit 

disguUe.] that, when they know 
Whom they have injured, thVy may faint with 

Of my revenge, which, wretched men ! expect, 
As sure as fate, to suffer. 

LeoMt. Ha ! Pisander ! 

Timag, Tis the bold Theban ! 

Asot. There's no hope for me then : 
I thoug^ht I should have put in for a share, 
And borne Cleora from them both ; but now. 
This stranger looks so terrible, that I dare not 
S'> much a^ look on her. 

Pisan. Now as myself. 
Thy equal at thy best, Leosthenes. 
For you, Timagoras, praise heaven you were bom 
Cleora's brother, 'tis your safest armour, 
liut 1 lose time, — The base lie cast upon me, 
1 thus return : Thou art a perjured man. 
False, and perfidious, and hast made a tender 
Of love and service to this lady, when 
Thy soul, if thou hast any, can bear witness. 
That thou wert not thine own : for proof of this. 
Look better on this virgin, and consider, 
T!iis Persian shape laid by, and she appearing 
In a Greekisih dress; such as when first vou saw 
If she refiemblt* not Pisaoder's sister, [her, 

Onp rallM Statilia ? 

Leottt. 'Tis the same ! My guilt 
So chokes my spirits, I cannot deny 
My fal:<ehood, nor excuse it. 

Pisan. This is she. 
To whom thou wert contracted : This the lady. 
That, when thou wert my prisoner, fairly taken 
In the Spartan war, that, begg'd thy liberty. 
And with it gave herself to thee, ungrateful ! 

Statu. No more, sir, I entreat you : 1 perceive 
True sorrow in his looks, and a consent 

.To make me reparation in mine honour ; 
And then I am most happy. 

Pisan, The wrong done her. 
Drew me from Thebes, with a Aill intent to kill 

But this fair object met me in my fury, 
And quite disarmed me. Being denied to have her. 
By you, my lord Archidamus, and not able 
To live far from her ; love, the mistress of 
All quaint devices, prompted me to treat 
With a friend of mine, who, as a pirate, sold me 
For a slave to you, my lord, and gave my sister. 
As a present, to (Jleora. 

TimoL Strange meanders ! 

Pisan, There how I bare myself, needs no rela- 
But, if so far descending from the height [tion : 
Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest 
Condition of a man, to have means only 
To feed my eye with the sight of what I honourM ; 
The dangers too I underwent, the sufferings ; 
The clearness of my interest, may deserve 
A noble recompense in your lawfol favour ; 
Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes 
Can claim no interest in you, you may please 
To think upon my service. 

Cleo. Sir, my want 
Of power to satisfy so great a debt. 
Makes me accuse my fortune ; but if that. 
Out of the bounty of your mind, you think 
A firee surrender of myself full payment, 
I gladly tender it 

Archid. With my consent too. 
All injuries forgotten. 

Timag, I will study 
In my future service, to deserve your favour, 
And good opinion. 

Leott, Thus I gladly fee 
This advocate to plead for me. IKisHng Statilia. 

Pisan. You will find me 
An easy judge. When I have yielded reasons 
Of your bondmen's falling off from their obedience, 
Then after, as you please, determine of me. 
I found their natures apt to mutiny 
From your too cruel usage, and made trial 
How far they might be wrought on ; to instruct you 
To look widi more prevention and care 
To what they may hereafter undertake 
Upon the like occasions. The hurt's little 
They have committed ; nor was ever cure. 
But with some pain« effected. I confess. 
In hope to force a grant of fair Cleora, 
I urged them to defend the town against you ; 
Nor had the terror of your whips, but that 
I was preparing for defence elsewhere, 
So soon got entrance : In this I am guilty ; 
Now, as you please, your censure. 

TimoL Bring them in ; 
And, though you've given me power, I do entreat 
Such as have undergone their insolence. 
It may not be offensive, though I study 
Pity, more than revenge. 

Coris, 'Twill best become you. 

Cleon, I must consent. 

Asol. For me, I'll find a time 
To be revenged hereafter. 

Enter QKACcvrvo, Ciubrio. Poliphroit, ZAimnA, and ikt 
other Slaves, with halters about their neeks, 

Grae. Give nie leave ; 
rU speak for alL » 


ACT f. 


Timot. What canit ihaa WKf, to hinder 
The coarse of jastice? 

Grae, Nothing. — Yon may lee 
We are prepared for hanging, aild oonfeis 
We have deserved it : our most humble rait is, 
We may not twice be ezecnted. 

Timol. Twice! 
How mean'st thon ? 

Grae, At the gaHows first, and after in a ballad 
Sung to some Tillainous tune. There are ten-groat 

About the town, grown ht on these occasions. 
Let but a chapel fall, or a street be fired, 
A foolish lorer hang himself for pure lo?e, 
Or any such like accident, and, before 
They are cold in their graves, some damn*d ditty's 

Which makes their ghosts walk. — Let the state 

take order 
for the redress of this abuse, recording 
'Twas don^ by my advice, and, for my part, 

I'll cut as clean a caper from the ladder, 
As ever merry Greek did. 

Timoi. Yet I think 
You would shew more aethrity to delight 
Your master for a pardon. 

Grae, O ! I would dance, 
As T were all air and fire. [Cmpen* 

Timoi. And ever be 
Obedient and humble ? 

Grae, As his spaniel. 
Though he kick'd me for exercise ; and the like 
I promise for all the rest. 

Timoi, Rise then, you have it. 

jIU the Slavet, Tlmoleon ! Timoleon ! 

THmoi. Cease these clamours. 
And now, the war being ended to our wishes. 
And such as went the pilgrimage of love, 
Happy in full fruition of their hopes, 
'Tis lawful, thanks paid to the Powers divine. 
To drown our cares in honest mirth and wine. 






Mv GOOD Lord,— To be honoured for old nobility, or hereditary titles, is not alone proper to yoanelf, but to aomB 
few of your rank, who may challenge the like privlleffe with you : but in our age to vouchsafe (aa you have often done) 
a ready hand to raine the dejected spirits of the contemned sons of the Muses ; such as would not suffer the glorions 
fire of poesy to be wholly extinguii»hed, is ho remarkable and peculiar to your lordship, that with a full vote and 
sufTrage, it is acknowledged that the patronage And protection of the dramatic poem, is yours, and almost without a 
rival. I despair not therefore, but that my ambition to present my servioe in this kind, may in your clemency meet 
with a gentle interpretation. Confirm it, my good lord, in your gracious aooeptanoe of this trifle ; in which, if J were 
nut confident there are some pieces worthy the perusal, it should have been taught an humbler flight ; and the writer, 
your countryman, never yet made happy in your notice and favour, had not made this an advocate to plead for Ids 
atliuisbion amimg such as are wholly and sincerely devoted to your serviotf. I may live to tender my hmnble thank. 
fulncM in aume higher strain ; and till then, comfort myself with hope, that you descend from your height to receive 

Your honour's oommMided servant, Puiup MAbKiNaaiu 


AsAAiBico, Virerop 0/ Tunis. 
Mi>TAPHA. Baiha (if Alepj>o. 
ViTBLU, a Venttian OtntUmaHf duguistd at 

FnANcisco, a Jcsitit. 
ANTuxto GaiMALOi, (Ae RawBOADo. 
Carazib, an Kunuch. 
(tAZBT. Servant to Vrntr li. 





A Gaoler. 


DoifusA, Nien to AMuaATH, 
Pauuna, Sitter to Vitbli.i. 
Manto, ServatU to Donusa. 

SCENE.— Tunis. 


SCENE I.— ^ Street near the Bazm 
Enter Vitkuu and Gaskt. 

Vitel. Yoa have hired a shop, then } 

GoM. Yes, sir ; and our wares, 
Though brittle as a maidenhead at sixteen, 
Are safe unladen ; not a crystal crack'd, 
Or China dish needs soldering; our choice pictuies, 
As they came from the workman without blemish : 
And I have studied speeches for each piece, 
\nd, in a thriftv tone, to sell them off, 
Will swear by Mahomet and Termagant, 
That this is mistress to the great duke of Florence, 
That, niece to old king Pepin, and a third, 
An Austrian princess by her Roman nose, 
Howe'er my conscience tells me they are figures 
Of btwds snd commoQ courtesans in Venice. 

Vitel. You make no scruple of an oath, then : 

Gas, Fie, sir ! 
'Tis out of my indentures ; T am bound there. 
To swear for my master's profit, as securely 
As your intelligencer must for his prince. 
That sends him forth an honourable spy. 
To serve his purposes. And, if it be lawful 
In a Christian shopkeeper to cheat his father, 
I cannot find but to abuse a Turk 
In the sale of our commodities, must be thought 
A meritorious work. 

Vitel. I wonder, sirrah, 
What's your religion ? 

Gag. Troth, to answer truly 
I would not be of one that should command me 
To feed upon poor John, when I see pheasanti 
And partridges on the table : nor do I like 
■ s 




The other, that allows ns to ent flf • h 

In Lent, though it be rotten, rather than be 

Thoaght fiaperstitiotts ; as your zealous cobler, 

And learned botcher, preach at Amsterdam, 

Over a hotchpotch. I would not be confined 

In my belief : when all ypur sects and sectaries 

Are grown of one opinion, if I like it, 

I will profess myself, — in the mean time. 

Live I in England, Spain, France, Rome, Geneva, 

I'm of that country's faith. 

Vitel. And what in Tunis ? 
Will you turn Turk here ? 

Gag. No : so 1 should lose 
A C0II9P of that part my Doll enjoin'd me 
To bring home as she left it : 'tis her venture, 
Nor dare I barter that commodity, 
Without her special warrant. 

Vitel. You are a knave, sir : 
Leaving your roguery, think upon my business, 
It is no dme to fool now 

Remember where you are too : though this mart- 
We are allow'd free trading, and with safety, 
Temper your tongue, and meddle not with the 
Their manners, nor religion. [Turks, 

GoiT. Take you heed, sir, 
What colours you wear. Not two hours since, 

there landed 
An English pirate's whore, with a green apron, 
And, a^ she walked the streets, one of their muftis. 
We call them priests at Venice, with a razor 
Cuts it off, petticoat, smock and all, and leaves 

As naked as my nail ; the young fry wondering 
What strange beast it should be. I scaped a 


My mistress's busk point, of that forbidden colour. 
Then tied my codpiece ; had it been discover'd, 
I had been capon 'd. 

FiieL And had been well served. 
Haste to the shop, and set my wares in order, 
I will not long be absent 

GoM. Though I strive, sir, 
To put off melancholy, to which yon are ever 
Too much inclined, it shall not hinder me. 
With my best care, to serve you. IBxU. 

Enter FaANaaoo. 

VUel, I believe thee. — 

O welcome, sir ! stay of my steps in this life, 

And guide to all my blessed hopes hereafter. 

What comforts, sir? Have your endeavours pros- 

Have we tired Fortune's malice with our sufferings? 

Is she at length, after so many frowns, 

Pleased to vouchsafe one cheerful look upon ns ? 
Fran, Yon give too much to fortune and your 

O'er whidi a wise man, if religious, triumphs. 

That name fools worship ; and those tyrants, which 

We arm against our better part, our reason, 

May add, but never take from our afflictions. 
Vitel. Sir, as I am a sinful man, I cannot 

But like one suffer. 

Fran, 1 exact not from you 

A fortitude insensible of calamity, 

To which the saints themselves have bow'd and 

Th«y are made of flesh and blood; all that I 

Is manly patience. Will yon, that were train*d up 

In a religious school, where divine maxims. 

Scorning comparison with moral precepts. 

Were diuly taught you, bear your constancy's trial. 

Not like Vitelli, but a village nurse. 

With curses in your mouth, tears in your eyes .' — 

How poorly it shows in you. 

Vitel. I am school'd, sir. 
And will hereafter, to my utmost strength. 
Study to be myself. 

Fran. So shall you find me 
Most ready to assist you ; neither have I 
Slept in your great occasions : since I left you 
I l»ve been at the viceroy's court, and press'd, 
As far as they allow, a Christian entrance ; 
And something I have leam'd, that may eoncarn 
The purpose of this journey. 

Vitel, Dear sir, what is it } 

Fran. By the command of Asamb^, the vicert^y, 
The city swells with barbarous pomp and pride. 
For the entertainment of stout Mustapba, 
The basha of Aleppo, who in person 
Comes to receive the niece of Amurath, 
The fair Donusa, for his bride. 

Vitel. 1 find not 
How this may profit us. 

Fran. Pray you give me leave. 
Among the rest that wait upon the viceroy 
Such as have, under him, command in Tunis. 
Who, as you've often heard, are all false pirates, 
I saw the shame of Venice, and the scorn 
Of all good men, the perjured Rknkoado, 
Antonio 'Grimaldi. 

Vitel. Ha ! his name 
Is poison to me. 

Fran. Yet again ? 

Vitel. I have done, sir. 

Fran. This debauch'd villain, whom we ever 
(After his impious scorn done, in St. Mark's, 
To me, as I stood at the holy altar) 
The thief that ravish'd your fair sister from you, 
The virtuous Paulina, not long since, 
As I am truly given to understand, 
Sold to the viceroy a fair Christian virgin 
On whom, maugre his fierce and cruel nature, 
Asamb^ dotes extremely. 

Vitel. 'Tis my sister : 
It must be she, my better angel tells roe 
'Tis poor Paulina. Farewell all disguises ! 
I'll show, in my revenge, that I am noble. 

Fran. You are not mad ? 

Vitel. No, sir ; my virtuous anger 
Makes every vein an artery ; I feel in me 
The strength of twenty men ; and, being arm'd 
With my good cause, to wreak wrong'd innocencSi 
I dare alone run to the viceroy's court. 
And with this poniard, before his face. 
Dig out Grimaldi's heart. 

Fran. Is this religious ? 

Vitel, Would you have me tame now ? Can 1 
know my sister 
Mew'd up in his seraglio, and in danger 
Not alone to lose her honour, but her soul ; 
The hell-bred villain by too, that has sold both 
To black destruction, and not haste to send him 
To the devil, his tutor ? To be patient now, 
Were, in another name, to play the pander 
To the viceroy's loose embraces, and cry aiml 
While he, by force or flattery, compels her 

To yield her fair name up to his foul lust, 
And, after, turn apostata to the fiuth 
That she was bred in. 

Fran. Do but give me hearing, 
And jon shall soon grant how ridiculous 
This childish fury is. A wise man never 
Attempts impossibilities ; 'tis as easy 
For any single arm to quell an army, 
K» to effect your wishes. We come hither 
To learn Paulina's fate, and to redeem her : 
Leave your revenge to heaven. I oft have told you 
()f a rdic that I gave her, which has power, 
If we may credit holy men's traditions, 
To keep the owner free from violence : 
This on her breast she wears, and does preserve 
The virtue of it, by her daily prayers. 
So, if she fall not by her own consent, 
Which it were sin to think, I fear no force. 
Be, therefore, patient ; keep this borrow'd shape, 
Till time and opportunity present us 
With some fit means to see her ; which perform*d, 
I'll join with yon in any desperate course 
For her delivery. 

Viiei, You have charm'd me, sir, 
And I obey in all things : pray yon, pardon 
Th<* weakness of my passion. 

Fran. And excuse it. 
Be cheerful, man ; for know that good intents 
Are, in the end, crown'd with as &ir events. 


SCENE 11.—^ Rwm m Donusa's Palaee. 
Enter Donvsa, Mamto, and Carasis. 

Ooit. Have yon seen the Christian captive. 
The great basha is so enamour'd of ? 

Afani. Yes, an it please your excellency, 
I took a full view of ner, when she was 
Presented to htm. 

Don, And is she such a wonder, 
As 'tis reported ? 

Afani. She was drown'd in tears then. 
Which took much from her beauty ; yet, in spite 
Of sorrow, she appear'd the mistress of 
Most rare perfections ; and, though low of stature, 
Her well-proportion 'd limbs invite affection : 
And. when she speaks, each syllable is music 
That does enchant the hearers : but your highness. 
That are not to be parallel' d, I yet never 
Beheld her equal. 

Den. Come, yon flatter me ; 
Bat I forgive it We, that are bom great, 
Seldom distaste our servants, though they give us 
More than we can pretend to. I have heard 
That Christian ladies live with much more freedom 
Than such as are bom here. Our jealous Turks 
Never permit their fair wives to be seen. 
But at the public bagnios, or the mosques. 
And, even then, veil'd and guarded. Thou, Ca- 

Wert bom in England ; what's the custom there, 
Among your women ? Come, be free and merry : 
I am no severe mistress ; nor hast thou met with 
A heavy bondage. 

Car. Heavy f I was made lighter 
By two stone weight, at least, to be fit to serve you. 
But to your question, madam ; women in England, 
For the most part, live like queens. Your country 

Bave Kberty to hawk, to hunt, to feast. 

To give free entertainment to all comers. 

To talk, to kiss ; there's no such thing known there 

As an Italian girdle. Your dty dame, 

Without leave, wears the breeches, has her husband 

At as much command as her prentice; and. it 

need be, 
Can make him cuckold by her faUier's copy. 

Don. But your court lady ? 

Car. She, I assure you, madam, 
Knows nothing but her will ; must be allow'd 
Her footmen, her caroch, her ushers, pages. 
Her doctor, chaplains ; and, as I have heard. 
They're grown of late so leam'd, tlu^t they main- 

^ A strange position, which their lords, with all 
Their wit, cannot confute. 

Don. What's that, I prithee ? 

Car. Marry, that it is not only fit, but lawful. 
Your madam there, her much rest and high feeding 
Duly consider'd, should, to ease her husband, , 
Be allow'd a private friend : they have drawn a bUl 
To this good purpose, and, the next assembly. 
Doubt not to pass it 

Don. We enjoy no more. 
That are o' the Othoman race, though our religion 
Allows all pleasure. 1 am dull : some music. 
Take my chapines off. So, a lusty strain. 

[A gaUiard. Knofking teithin. 
Who knocks there ? 

[Manto^om to the door, and raurnt. 

Mani. *T\b the basha of Aleppo, 
Who humbly makes request he may present 
His service to you. 

Don. Reach a chair. We must 
Receive him like ourself, and not depart wi^h 
One piece of ceremony, state, and greatnebs. 
That may bq^t respect and reverence 
In one that's bom our vassaL Now admit him. 

Enter Mustapha ; he puU qfhis yellow pantq/tee. 

Musta. The place is sacred ; and I am to enter 
The room where she abides, with such devotion 
As pilgrims pay at Mecca, when they visit 
The tomb of our great prophet {^KneeU. 

Don. Rise ; the sign 

[Carastb takes up the pantttfUs. 
That we vouchsafe your presence. 

Musta. May those Powers 
That raised the Othoman empire, and still guard it, 
Reward your highness for this gracious favour 
You throw upon your servant ! It hath pleased 
The most iovindble, mightiest Amurath, 
(To speak his other titles would take from him 
That in himself does comprehend all greatness,) 
To make me the unworthy instrument 
Of his command. Receive, divinest lady, 

iUelivers a letttr. 
This letter, sign'd by his victorious hand, 
\nd made authentic by the imperial seal 
There, when you find me mention'd, far be it from 
To think it my ambition to presume [you 

At such a happiness, which his powerful will. 
From his great mind's magnificence, not my merit, 
Hnth shower'd upon me. But, if your consent 
Join with his good opinion and allowance. 
To perfect what his favours have begun, 
I shall, in my obsequiousness and duty, 
Endeavour to prevent all just complaints, 
Which want of will to serve you may call on me. 

Don. His sacred mi^ty writes here, that yooi 





Against the Persian hath so won upon hira, 

That there's no grace or honour in his gift, 

Of which he can imagine you unworthy ; 

And, what's the greatest you can hope, or aim at, 

It is his pleasure you should be received 

Into his royal family — provided, 

For so far I am unconfined, that I 

Affect and like your person. 1 expect not 

The ceremony which he uses in 

Bestowing of his daughters and his nieces : 

As that he should present you for my slave, 

To love you, if you pleased me ; or deliver 

A poniard, on my least dislike, to kill you. 

Such tyranny and pride agree not with 

My softer disposition. Let it suffice, 

For my first answer, that thus far I grace you : 

[Gives him her hat%d to kisf. 
Hereafter, some time spent to make enquiry 
Of the good parts and faculties of your mind, 
]fou shall hear further from me. 

Aftula, Though all torments 
Really suffered, or in hell imagined 
By curious fiction, in one hour's delay 
Are wholly comprehended ; I confess 
That I stand bound iu duty, not to check at 
Whatever you command, or please to impose. 
For trial of my patience. 

Don Let us find 
Some other subject ; too much of one theme cloys 
Is't a full mart ? [me : 

Musta, A confluence of all nations 
Are met together : there's variety, too, 
Of all that merchants traffic for. 

Don, I know not — 
I feel a virgin's longing to descend 
So far from my own greatness, as to be, 
Though not a buyer, yet a looker on 
Their strange commodities. 

Miisia, If without a train 
You dare be seen abroad, I'll dismiss mme, 
And wait upon you as a common man, 
And satisfy your wishes. 

Don. 1 embrace it. 
Provide my veil ; and, at the postern gate, 
Coivey us out unseen. I trouble you. 

Musta, It is my happiness you deign to com- 
mand me. lExeuHt 

SCENE llL^The Bazar. 

OAf rr in hit Shop ; TvLKitcxiaco and Vitblu walking 

b^ore it. 

Gaz. What do you lack? Your choice China 
dishes, your pure Venetian crystal of all sorts, of all 
neat and new fashions, from the mirror of the madam, 
to the private utensil of her chambermaid ; and 
curious pictures of Uie rarest beauties of Europe : 
What do you lack, gentlemen ? 

Fran. Take hee£ I say ; howe'er it may appear 
Impertinent, I must express my love, 
My advice, and counsel! You are young, Vitelli, 
And may be tempted ; and these Turkish dames, 
(Like English mastiffs, that increase their fierceness 
By being chain'd up,) ftom the restraint of free- 
If lust once fire their blood from a fair object. 
Will run a course the fiends themselves would 
To enjoy their wanton ends. [shake at, 

ViUl. Sir, you mistake me : 

I am too full of woe, to entertain 

One thought of pleasure, though all Europe's 

Kneel' d at my feet, and courted me ; much less 
To mix with such, whose difference of fiiith 
Must, of necessity, (or I must grant 
Myself n^lectfhl of all you have taught me,) 
Strangle such base desires. 

Fran. Be constant in 
That resolution ; I'll abroad again, 
And learn, as far as it is possible. 
What may concern Paulina. Some two honrt 
Shall bring me back. iExit, 

ViteL All blessings wait upon you I 

Gam. Cold doings, sir ? a mart do you call thia ? 
'slight ! 
A pudding-wife, or a witch with a thrum cap. 
That sells ale underground to such as come 
To know their fortunes in a dead vacation, 
Have, ten to one, more stirring. 

ViteL We must be patient. 

Gojr. Your seller by retail ought to be angry. 
But when he's fingering money. 

Enter Gbimau»i, llaster» Boatswain, Sailors, and Turks. 

Vitel. Here are company 

Defend me, my good angel, [mmii^Gbim aldi.] I 
A basilisk I [behold 

GoM. What do yon lack ? what do you lack ? 
pure China dishes, clear crystal glasses, a dumb 
mistress to make love to ? What do you lack, gen- 
tlemen ? 

Grim, Thy mother for a bawd ; or, if thou hast 
A handsome one, thy sister for a whore ; 
Without these, do not tell me of your trash, 
Or I shall spoil your market. 

Vitel. —Old Grimaldi 1 

Grim. 'Zounds, wherefore do we put to sea. or 

The raging winds, aloft, or p upon [stand 

The foamy waves, when they rage most ; deride 

The thunder of the enemy's shot, board boldly 

A merchant's ship for prize, though we behold 

The desperate gunner ready to give fire. 

And blow the deck up ? wherefore shake we off 

Those scrupulous rags of charity and conscience. 

Invented only to keep churchmen warm. 

Or feed the hungry mouths of famish'd beggars ; 

But, when we touch the shore, to wallow in 

All sensual pleasures ? 

Mast. Ay, but, noble captain. 
To spare a little for an after-clap. 
Were not improvidence. 

Grim. Hang consideration ! 
When this is spent, is not our ship the same. 
Our courage too the same, to fetch in more ? 
The earth, where it is fertilest, r^mms not 
More than three harvests, while the glorious sun 
Posts through the zodiac, and makes up the year . 
But the sea. which is our mother, (that embraces 
Both the rich Indies in her outstretch'd arms,) 
Yields every day a crop, if we dare reap it. 
No, no, my mates, let tradesmen think of thrift. 
And usurers hoard up ; let our expense 
Be, as our comings in are, without bounds. 
We are the Neptunes of the ocean. 
And such as traffic shall pay sacrifice 
Of their best lading ; I will have this canvass 
Your boy wears, lined with tissue, and the cates 
You taste, serv'd up in gold : — ^Though we carouse 
Hie tears of orphans in our Greekuh wines, 

The sighs of undone widows paying for 
The mosic bought to cheer ns, raVish'd vii^ns 
To slavery sold, for coin to feed our riotS| 
We will have no compunction. 

GoM. Do you hear, sir ? 
We have paid for our ground. 

Grim. Hum ! 

GoM. And hum, too ! 
For all your big words, get you further off, 
And hinder not the prospect of our shop, 

Grim, What will you do ? 

GoM, Nothing, sir — but pray 
Tour worship to give me handsel. 

Grim. [SeiMtng him.] fiy the ears, 
nins, sir, by the ears. 

Most. Hold, hold ! 

Viiel. You*U stiU be prating. 

Grim. Come, let's be drunk ; than each man to 
his whore. 
'Slight, how do yon look ? you had best go find a 

To pray in, and repent : do, do, and cry ; 
It will shew fine in pirates. IBxU. 

Must We must follow^ 
Or he will spend our shares. 

Bomisw. I fought for mine. 

Aiast. Nor am I so precise but I can drab too : 
We will not sit out for our parts. 

Boaisw. Agreed. lExeunt MuL Boatow. Sailors. 

Gaz. The devil gnaw off bis fingers ! If he were 
In London, amohg the clubs, up went his heeU, 
For striking of a prentice. — What do you lack ? 
What do yon lack, gentlemen ? 

1 Thirk. I wonder how the viceroy can endure 
The insolence of this fellow. 

2 Turk. He receives profit 

From the prizes he brings in ; and that eicuses 
Whatever he commits. Ha ! what are these ? 

Enter Mustapha uHth Dowviu veiled. 

1 Turk. They seem of rank and quality : observe 

Gam. What do you lack ? see what you please 
to buy; 
Wares of all sorts, most honourable madona. 

Viiei. Peace, sirrah, make no noise ; these are 
not people 
To be jested with. 

Don. Is this the Christians' custom, 
In the venting their commodities ? 

Mutta. Yes, best madam. 
But you may plea.<<e to keep your way, here's nothing 
But toys and trifles, not worth your observing. 

Don. Yes, for variety's sake : pmy you, shew 
us, friend. 
The cfaiefest of your wares. 

Viiel. Your ladyship's servant ; 
And if, in worth, or title you are more. 
My ignorance plead my pardon ! 

Dmn. He speaks well. 

ViieL Take down the looking-glass. Here is a 
Steel'd so exactly, neither taking from 
Nor flattering the object it returns 
To the beholder, that Narcissus might 
(And never grow enamonr'd of hinuelf) 
View his fair feature in't. 

JDon. Poetical, too \ 

ViUL Hare China dithcs to serve in a banquet. 

Though the voluptoons Persian lat a guest. 

Here crystal glaues, such as Ganymede 

Did fill with nectar to the Thunderer, 

When he drank to Alcides, and received him 

In the fellowship of the gods ; true to the owners : 

Corinthian plate, studded with diamonds, 

Conceal'd oft deadly poison ; this pure metal 

So innocent is, and faithful to the mistress 

Or master that possesses it, that, rather 

Thau hold one drop that's venomous, of itself 

It flies in pieces, and deludes the traitor. 

Don. How movingly could this fellow treat 
A worthy subject, that finds such discourse 
To grace a trifle ! 

Vitei. Here's a picturty madam ; 
The masterpiece of Michael Angelo, 
Our great Italian workman ; here's another. 
So perfect at all parts, that had Pygmalion 
Seen this, his prayers had been made to Venns 
To have given it tife, and his carved ivory image 
By poets ne'er remember'd. They are, indeed. 
The rarest beauties of the Christian world. 
And no where to be equall'd. 

Don. You are partial 
In the cause of those you favour ; I believe 
I instantly could shew you one, to theirs 
Not much inferior. 

Vitel. With your pardon, madam, 
I am incredulous. 

Don. Can yon match me this P 

[Li/ts JUr veU hastll9. 

Vitel. What wonder look I on 1 I'll search above. 
And suddenly attend you. iExit 

Dtrn, Are you amazed ? 
I'll bring you to yourself. {Tkrowe d«wn ike Qlaeeee. 

Mutta. Ha ! what's the matter ? 

GoM. My master's ware ! — We are undone ! — O 
A lady to turn roarer, and break glasses ! [strange . 
'Tis time to shut up shop then. 

Musta. You seem moved : 
If any language of these Christian dogs 
Have call'd your anger on, in a firown shew it, 
And they are dead already. 

Don. The offence 
Looks not so far. The foolish, paltry fellow, 
Shew'd me some trifles, and demanded of me. 
For what I valued at so many aspers, 
A thousand ducats. I confess he moved me ; 
Yet I should wrong myself, should such a beggar 
Receive least loss from me. 

Mueta. Is it no more ? 

Don. No, I assure you. Bid him bring his bill 
Tu-morrow to the palace, and enquire 
For one Donusa ; that word gives him passage 
Through all the guard : say, there he shall rtceive 
Full satisfaction. Now, when you please. 

Musta. I wait you. IBxeunt Mosta. and Dow. 

1 Turk. We must not know them. — Let's shift 
off, and vanish. lExeunt Turk*. 

GoM. The swine's-poz overtake you 1 there's a 
For a Turk, that eats no hog's fleah. [curse 

Re-enter Ynwiu, 

Vitel. Is she gone ? 

GoM. Yes : Yon may see her handywork. 

Vitel, No matter. 
Said she aught else ? 

Gum. That yon should wait vpon h«r. 
And there receive court paynwBt ; and, to pMt 




The guards, she bids you only say you come 
To one Donusa. 

Vitei. How ! Remove the wares ; 
Do it without reply. The sultan's niece ! 
I have heard, among the Turks, for any lady 
To shew her £ice bare, argues love, oi speaks 

Her deadly hatred. What should I fear ? my for- 
Iti sunk so low, there cannot fall upon me [tunc^ 
Aught worth my shunning. I will run the haxard 
She may be a means to free distressed Paulina — 
Or, if offended, at the worst, to die 
Is a full period to calamity. IBxttmL 


SCENE I,— A Room in Donopa's Palace. 
Enter CAaAsiB and Maato. 

Car. In the name of wjnder, Manto, what hath 
Done with herself; since yesterday ? [my lady 

Mani. I know not 
Malicious men report we are all guided 
In our affections by a wandering planet : 
But such a sudden change in such a person, 
May stand for an example, to confirm 
Their false assertion. 

Car, Site's now pettish, froward ; 
Music, discourse, observance, tedious to her. 

Maft. She slept not the last night ; and 3^t pre- 
The rising sun^ in being up before him : [vented 
('alKd for a costly bath, then willed the rooms 
Should be perfumed ; ransack'd her cabinets 
For hei; choice and richest jewels, and appears now 
Like Cynthia in full glory, waited on 
fiy the fairest of the stars. 

Car. Can yon guess the reason. 
Why the aga of the janizaries, and he 
That guards the entrance of the inmost port. 
Were call*d before her ? 

Mant. They are both her creatures. 
And by her grace preferr*d : but I am ignorant 
To what purpose they were sent for. 

BnUr DoHuaA. 

Car. Here she comes, 
Full of sad thoughts : we must stand further off. 
What a frown was that 1 

Mant. Forbear. 

Car. I pity her. 

Don, What magic hath transformed me from 
Where is my virgin pride ? how have I lost 
My boasted freedom ? what new fire bums up 
My scorched entrails ; what unknown desires 
Invade, and take possession of my soul. 
All virtuous objects vanished ? I, that have stood 
The shock of fierce temptations, stopp'd mine ears 
Against all Syren notes lust ever sung, 
To draw my bark of chastity (that with wonder 
Hath kept a constant and an honour'd course) 
Into the gulf of a deserved ill-fame. 
Now fall unpitied ; and, in a moment, 
With mine own hands, dig up a grave to bury 
The monumental heap of all my years. 
Employ 'd in nobl« actions. O my fate ! 
•— fiut there is no resisting. I obey thee, 
Imperious god oi love, and willingly 
Put mine own fetters on, to grace thy triumph : 
*Twere therefore more than cruelty in thee, 
To use me like a tyrant. What poor means 
Must I make use of now 1 and fiatter such, 
To whom, till I betray'd my liberty, 
One gracious look of mine would hav« erected 
An attar to my lerviee ! How, now, Manto !-^ 

My ever careful woman ; and Carazie, 
Thou hast been faithful too. 

Car. I dare not call 
My life mine own, since it is yours, but gladly 
Will part with it, whene'er you shall command me ; 
And think I USl a mart3rrf so my death 
May give lifb to your pleasures. 

Mani. But vouchsafe 
To let me understand what yon desire 
Should be effected ; I will undertake it. 
And curse myself for cowardice, if I paused 
To ask a reason why. 

Don. 1 am comforted 
In the tender of your service, but shall be 
Confirmed in my full joys, in the performance. 
Yet, trust me, I will not impose upon you 
But what you stand engaged for to a mistress, 
Snch as I have been to you. All 1 ask, 
Is faith and secrecy. 

Car, Say but yon doubt me. 
And, to secure you, 1*11 cut out my tongue | 
I am libb'd in the breech already. 

Mani. Do not hinder 
Yourself, by these delays. 

Don. Thus then I whisper 
Mine own shame to you. — O that I should blush 
To speak what I so much desire to do ! 
And, further — IWhiipert, and use* vthewtent action, 

Mani. Is this all? 

Don. Think it not base ; 
Although I know the office undergoes 
A coarse construction. 

Car, Coarse ! *tis but procuring ; 
A smock employment, which has made more knights, 
In a country I could name, than twenty years 
Of service in the field. 

Don. You have my ends. 

Mani. Which say you have arrived at : be not 
To yourself, and fiear not us. [wanting 

Car. I know my burthen ; 
ru bear it with deUght. 

Mani. Talk not, but do. {Exeunt CAa. and Mant. 

Don. O love, what poor shifts thou dost force 
ns to! lExU, 

SCENE 11.—^ Court in the Same, 
Enter Aga, Capisga, and JanixarieSi 

Ago, She was ever onr good mistress, and onr 
And should we check at a little hasard for her. 
We were nnthankfuL 

Cap. I dare pawn my head, 
'Us some disguised minion of the court. 
Sent from great Amurath, to learn from her 
The viceroy's actions. 

Aga. That ooncems not ns ; 

His &I1 may be our rise: whnte'er be be. 
He passes through my gunrds. 
Cap, And mine — provided 
He give the word. 

Enter Vitxlli. 

ViUL To faint now, being thus far, 
Would argue me of cowardice. 

Aga. Stand : the word ; 
Or, being a Christian, to press thus far, 
Forfeits thy life. 

ViteL Donusa. 

Aga. Pass in peace. [Exeunt Aga and Janizaries. 

ViteL What a privilege her name bears ! 
Tis wondrous strange ! If the great officer, 
l*be guardian of the inner port, deny not — 

Cap. Thy warrant : Speak, or thou art dead. 

VM. Donusa. 

Cap, That protects thee ; 
Without fear enter. So : — discharge the watch. 

[^Exeunt Vitkixi and Capiaga. 

SCENE III. — An outer Roomjn the tame. 
Enter Cahamb and Maitto. 

Car, Though he hath past the aga and chief 
This cannot be the man. [porter, 

Mani. By her description, 
1 am sure it is. 

Car, O women, women, 
What are you ? A great lady dote upon 
A haberdasher of small wares ! 

Mant, Pish ! thou hast none. 

Car, No I if I had, I might have serred the 
turn . 
This 'tis to want munition, when a man 
Should make a breach, and enter. 

Enter Vrraixi. 

Mant. Sir, you are welcome : 
Think what 'tis to be happy, an4 possess it. 

Car. Perfume the rooms there, and make way. 
Let music 
With choice notes entertain the man the princess 
Now purposes to honour. 

Vitel. I am ravish'd. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV A Room of State in the same. A 

table set forth, with jetoele and bags of money 
upon it, 

Lomd mustc. Enter DomrsA, {followed bp Cahaux,) and 

es her seat. 

Don. Sing o'er the ditty that I last composed 
Upon my love-sick passion : suit your voice 
To the music tliat's placed yonder, we shall hear 
With more delight and pleasure. [you 

Car. 1 obey you. iSong. 

During the tong, enter Hanto and Ymu.!. 

Fitel. Is not this Tempe, or the blessed shades, 
Where innocent spirits reside ? or do I dream. 
And this a heavenly vision ? Howsoever, 
It is a sight too glorious to behold. 
For 8uch a wretch as I am. 

Car. He is daunted. 

Mant, Speak to him, madam ; cheer him up, or 
Destroy wlut vou have built. [you 

Car. Would I were fnrniih'd 

With his artillery, and if I stood 
Gaping as he does, hang me. {.4 tide. 

[Exeunt Oajlasib and Mahto, 

Vitel, That I might 
Ever drekm thus ! IKneels. 

Don. Banish amazement . 
You wake ; your debtor tells you so, your debtor. 
And, to assure yon that I am a substance. 
And no aSrial figure, thus I raise you. 
Why do you shake ? my soft touch brings no ague ; 
No biting frost is in this palm ; nor are 
My looks like to the Gorgon's head, that turn 
Men into statues ; rather they have power. 
Or I have been abused, where they bestow 
Their influence, (let me prove it truth in you,) 
To give to dead men motion. 

VUel. Can this be ? 
May I believe my senses ? Dare I think 
I have a memory, or that you are 
That excellent creature that of late disdain'd not 
To look on my poor trifles ? 

Don, I am she. 

Vitel. The owner of that blessed name, Donusa, 
Which, like a potent charm, although pronounced 
By my profane, but much unworthier, tongue. 
Hath brought me safe to this forbidden place. 
Where Christian yet ne'er trod ? 

Don, I am the same. 

Vitel. And to what end, great lady — ^pardon me, 
That 1 presume to ask. did your command 
Command me hither ? Or what am I, to whom 
You should vouchsafe your favours; nay, your 
If any wild or uncollected speech, [angers ? 

Offensively deliver'd, or my doubt 
Of your unknown perfections, have displeased you, 
You wrong your indignation to pronounce. 
Yourself, my sentence : to have seen you only. 
And to have touch'd that fortune-making hand. 
Will with delight weigh down all tortures, that 
A flinty hangman's rage could execute, 
Or rigid tyranny command with pleasure. 

Don, How the abundance of good flowing to 
Is wTong'd in this simplicity ! and these bounties. 
Which idl our Eastern kings have kneel'd in vain 
Do, by thy ignorance, or wilful fear, [for. 

Meet with a false construction ! Christian, know 
(For till thou art mine by a nearer name. 
That title, though abhorr*d here, takes not from 
Thy entertainment) that 'tis not the fashion 
Among the greatest and the fairest dames 
This Turkish empire gladly owes and bows to. 
To punish where there's no offence, or nourish 
Displeasures against those, without whose mercy 
They part with all felicity. Prithee, be wise. 
And gently understand me ; do not force her, 
That ne'er knew aught but to command, nor e'er 
The elements of affection, but from such [read 
As gladly sued to her, in the infancy 
Of her new-born desires, to be at once 
Importunate and immodest. 

Vitel, Did I know, 
Great lady, your commands ; or, to what purpose 
This personated passion tends, (since 'twere 
A crime in me deserving death, to think 
It is your own,) I should, to make you sport. 
Take any shape you please t'impose upon me ) 
And with joy strive to serve you. 

Don, Sport ! Thou art cruel, 
I If that thou canst interpret my descent 




From my high birth and greatness, bat to be 
A part, in which I truly act myself : 
And 1 must hold thee for a dull spectator, 
If it stir not affection, and invite 
Compassion for my sufferings. Be thou taught 
Hy ray example, to make satisfac'ion 
For wrongs unjustly offer'd. Willingly 
1 do confess my &ult ; I injured thee 
1 n some poor petty trifles : thus I pay for 
The trespass I did to thee. Here — receive 
These bags, stufTd full of our imperial coiu ; 
Or, if this payment be too light, take here 
These gems, for which the slavish Indian dives 
To the bottom of the main : or, if thou scorn 
These as base dross, which take but common minds, 
But fancy any honour in my gift, 
• Which is unbounded as the sultanas power. 
And be possest of it. 

VUel. I am overwhelmed 
With the weight of happiness you throw upon me : 
Nor can it fall in my imagination. 
What wrong you e'er have done me ; and much less 
How, like a royal merchant, to return 
Your great magnificence. 

Don, They are degrees. 
Not ends, of my intended favours to thee. 
These seeds of bounty I yet scatter on 
A glebe 1 have not tried : — but, be thou thankful ; 
The harvest is to come. 

Vitel. What can be added 
To that which I already have received, 
I cannot comprehend. 

Don. The tender of 
Myself. Why dost thou start ? and in that gift, 
Full restitution of that virgin freedom 
Which thou hast robb*d me of. Yet, I profess, 
I so far prize the lovely thief that stole it. 
That, were it possible thou couldst restore 
Wliat thou unwittingly hast ravish'd from me, 
I should refuse the present 

Vitel. How I shake 
In my constant resolution ! and ray flesh. 
Rebellious to my better part, now tells me, 
As if it were a strong defence of frailty, 
A hermit in a desert, trench 'd with prayers. 
Could not resist this battery. 

Don, Thou an Italian, 
Nay more, I know't, a natural Venetian, 
Such as are courtiers bom to please fair ladies. 
Yet come thus slowly on ! 

Vitel, Excuse me, madam : 
What imputation soe'er the world 
Is pleased to lay upon us, in myself 
I am so innocent, that I know not what 'tis 
That I should offer. 

Don, By instinct I'll teach thee. 
And with such ease as love makes me to ask it. 
When a young lady wrings you by the hand, (bus, 
Or with an amorous touch presses your foot. 
Looks babies in your eyes, plays with your locks. 
Do not you find, without a tutor's help. 
What 'tis she looks for ! 

Vitel. I am grown already 
Skilful in the mystery. 

Dun. Or, if thus she kiss you. 
Then tastes your lips again 

VUel. That latter blow 
Has beat all chaste thoughts from me. 

Z>oa. Say, she points to 
Some private room the sunbeams never enter. 

IKissu Aim. 

Provoking dishes passing by, to heighten 
Declined appetite, active music ushering 
Your fainting steps, the waiters too, as bom dumb, 
Not daring to look on you. 

iBxit, invUinphim to follow 
Vitel. Though the devil 
Stood by, and roar'd, I follow : Now I find 
That virtue*s but a word, and no sure guard, 
If set upon by beauty and reward. lExit. 

SCENE y.—A Hall in Asambeg's Palare. 

Bnttr Ags, Capiaga, GniaiALor, Matter, Boatswain, and 


Aga. The devil's in him, I think. 

Grim, Let him be damn'd too. 
I'll look on him, though he stared as wild as hell ; 
Nay, rU go near to tell him to his teeth. 
If he mends not suddenly, and proves more 

We do him too much service. Were't not for 

shame now, 
I could turn honest, and forswear my trade ; 
Which, next to being truss'd up at the mainyard 
By some low country butterbox, I hate 
As deadly as I do fasting, or long grace 
When meat cools on the table. 

Cap. But take heed ; 
You know his violent nature. 

Grim. Let his whores 
And catamites know't 1 I understand myself, 
And how unmanly 'tis to sit at home, 
And rail at ns, that run abn)ad all haxards. 
If every week we bring not home new pillage. 
For the fatting his seraglio. 

Enter Asambbo, Mustapba, and Attondants. 

Aga. Here he comes. 

Cap, How terrible he looks ! 

Grim, To such as fear him. 
The viceroy, Asambeg ! were he the sultan's self 
He'll let us know a reason for his fury ; 
Or we must take leave, without his allowance, 
T*» be merry with our ignorance. 

Anam, Nlahomet's hell 
Light on you all ! You crouch and cringe now — 

Was tlie terror of my just frowns, when you 

Tliose thieves of Malta, almost in our harbour, 
Tu boai d a ship, and bear her safely off, 
Whiln you stood idle lookers on? 

Aya. The odds 
In the men aud shipping, and the suddenness 
Of :hcir departure, yifliliii^ us no leisure 
To ftu\ forth otlier:> to relieve our own. 
Deterr'd us, mighty sir. 

Asam. Deterr'd you, cowards ! 
Htiw durst you only entertain the knowledge 
Of what fear was, but in the not performance 
Of our command ? In me great Amurath spake ; 
My voice did echo to your ears his thunder, 
And wiird you, like so many sea-bom tritons, 
Arm'd only with the trumpets of your courage. 
To swim up to her, and, like remoras 
Hanging upon her keel, to stay her flight, 
Till rescue, sent from us, had fetch'd you off. 
You think you're safe now. Who durst but dii> 
pute it. 






Or make it qaestionable, if, this moment, 

I charged you, from yon hang;ing cliff, that glasses 
His rugged forehead in the neighbouring lake. 

To tiiruw yourselves down headlong ? or, like fag- 

To fill the ditches of defended forts, 
While on your backs we marched up to the breach ? 

Grim. That would nut I. 

A tarn. Ha. 

Grim. Yet I dare as much 
Aa any of the sultan's boldest sons, 
Whose heaven and bell hang on his frown or smile, 
His warlike janizaries. 

Asam, Add one syllable more, 
Thou dost pronounce upon thyself a sentence 
Th/it, earthquake-like, will swallow thee. 

Grim, Let it open, 
1*11 Rtand the hazard : those contemned thieves, 
Your fellow-pirates, sir, the bold Maltese, 
Whom with your looks yon think to quell, at 

Laugh'd at great Solyman's anger : and, if treason 
Had not delivered them into his power, 
He had grown old in glory as in years, 
At that so fatal siege ; or risen with sliame, 
Hi» hopes and threats deluded. 

Atam, Our great prophet 1 
How have I lost my anger and my power ! 

Grim, Find it, and use it on thy flatterers, 
And not upon thy firiends, that dare speak truth. 
The^e knights of Malta, but a handful to 
Yi>ur armies, that drink rivers up, have stood 

II our fury at the height, and with their crosses 
Struck pale your horned moons; these men of 

Since I took pay from you, I've met and fought 

Upon advantage too ; yet, to speak truth, 
Hy the soul of honour, I have ever found them 
A» provident to direct, and bold to do. 
As any train'd up in your discipline, 
Kavkiih'd from other nations. 

Mtuia. I perceive 
The lightning in his fiery looks : the cloud 
Is broke already. \,AtUU, 

Grim. Think not, therefore, sir, 
Thnt you alone are giants, and such pigmies 
You war u(>on. 

A»am. Villain I Til make thee know 
Thou hast blu^pltemed the Othoman power, and 

At noonday, might*st have given fire to St 

Your proud Venetian temple. — Seize upon liim : 
I am not »o near reconciled to him. 
To bid him die ; that were a benefit 
Tlie dog's nnworUiy of. To our use confiscate 
All that he stands posscss'd of; let him taste 
The Hiisery of wont, and his vain riots. 
Like to so many walking gbosts, alTright him, 
Wheie*er he sets his desperate foot. Who is't 
That does command you ? 

Grim, Is this the reward 
For all my service, and the rape I made 
On fair Paulina ? , 

Auim, Drag him hence : — he dies, 
lliat dallies but a minute. 

[Orimau>i it drapfj€d qf, his head covered. 

Boaint. What's become of 
Our shares now, master ? 

Mtui. Would he had been bom dumb ! 
The beggar's cure, patience, is all that's left us. 

lExeunt Master, Boatswain, and bailun. 

Mtuia, 'Twas but intemperance of speecti, 
excuse him ; 
I .et me prevail so far. Fame gives him cut 
For a deserving fellow. 

Atom. At Aleppo, 
I durst not press you so far ; give me leave 
To use my own will, and command in Tunis | 
And if you please, my privacy. 

Mtuia, I will see you. 
When this high wind's blown o'er. ^ExiU 

Asam, So shall you find me 
Ready to do you service. Rage, now leave me ; 
Stern looks, and all the ceremonious forms 
Attending on dread majesty, fly from 
Transformed Asambeg. Why should I hog 


So near my heart, what leads me to my prison ; 
Where she that b inthrall'd, commands her keeper, 
And robs me of the fierceness I was bom with ? 
Stout men quake at my frowns, and, in return, 
I tremble at her softness. Base Grimaldi 
But only named Paulina, and the charm 
Had almost choak'd my fury, ere I could 
Pronounce his sentence. Would, when first I saw 

Mine eyes had met with lightning, and, in place 
Of hearing her enchanting tongue, the shrieks 
Of mandrakes had made music to my slumbers ! 
For now I only walk a loving dream, 
And but to my dishonour never wake ; 
And yet am blind, but when I see the object. 
And madly dote on it. Appear, bright spark 

[0/Miu a door ; Pavuna comet /arth. 

Of all perfection ! any simile 

Borrow'd from diamonds, or the fairest stars. 

To help me to express how dear I prize 

Tliy unmatch'd graces, will rise up, and chide me 

For poor detraction. 

Paul. I despise thy flatteries : 
Thus spit at them, and soom them ; and beuig 

In the assurance of my innocent virtue, 
1 stamp U]M)n all doubts, all fearv, all tortures. 
Thy barbarous cruelty, or, what's worse, thy dotage. 
The worthy parent of thy jealousy, 

I Can shower upon me. 

I Asam. If these bitter taunts 
Ravish me from myself, and make me think 
My greedy ears receive angelical sounds ; 

i How would this tongue, tuned to a loving note, 

' Invade, and take possession of my soul. 
Which then I durst not call mine own ! 

Paul. Thou art false, 
Falser than thy religion. Do but think me 
Something above a beast, nay more, a monster 
Would fright the sun to look on, and then tell me. 
If this base usage can invite affection ? 
If to be mew'd up, and excluded from 
Human society : the use of pleasures ; 
The necessary, not superfluous duties 
Of servants, to discharge those offices 
I blush to name — 

Asam. Of servants ! Can you think 
Tli.-tt I, that dare not trust the eye of heaven 
To look upon your beauties ; that deny 
Myself the happines;* to touch your purenesn. 
Will e'er consent an eunuch, or houglit Karidma'd. 



ACT m. 

Shall once approach you ?— There U aomething in 

That can work miradea, or I am eocen'd . 
Dispose and alter aezea, to my wrong. 
In spite of nature. I will be yonr narae. 
Your woman, your physician, and your fool ; 
Till, with yonr free consent, which I have Tow'd 
Never to force, you grace me with a name 
That shall supply all these. 

PauL What is it? 

Asam, Your husband. 

PauL My hangman, when thou pleasest 

Asam. Thus I guard me 
Against your further angers. {Leads her to the door. 

Paul. Which shall reach thee, 
Though 1 were in the centre. 

[AsAMBBG clout the door upon her^ and Uhke U. 

Atom. Such a spirit. 
In such a small proportion, I ne'er read of. 
Which time must alter : RaYish her I dare not ; 
The magic that she wears about her neck, 
I think, defends her : — this devotion paid 
To this sweet saint, mistress of my sour pain, 
'Tis fit I take mine own rough shape again. [fixtC. 

SCENE VI. — A Street near Donusa's Palace. 
Smter Fiujfcisoo attd Oaskt. 

Fran. I think he's lost. 

Gag. 'Tis ten to one of that ; 
I ne'er knew citizen turn courtier yet, 
But he lost his credit though he saved himself. 
Why look you, sir, there are so many lobbies, 
Out-offioes, and dispartations here. 
Behind these Turkish hangings, that a Christian 
Hardly gets off but circumcised. 

Enter Vitblu ridify habUed, Gabasi«, mmI Maxto. 

Fran, I am troubled, 
Troubled exceedingly. Ha ! what are these ? 

GoM. One, by lus rich suit, should be stmie 
French embassador : 
For his train, I think they are Turks. 

Fran. Peace! be not seen. 

Car. You are now past all the guards, and, on* 
Tou may return. 

VUel. Tliere's for your pains ; forget not 
My humblest service to the best of li^Ues. 

Mant. Desenre her &vour, sir, in making haste 
For a second entertainment 

CJEmhhX Gabaxu Olid ILuno. 

Vitel. Do not doubt me ; 
I shall not hve till then. 

Gax. The train is vanish'd : 
They have done him some good office, he's so firee 
And liberal of his gold. — Ha ! do I dream, 
Or is this mine own natural master ? 

Fran. 'Tis he . 
But strangely metamorphosed. — ^You have made, 

A prosperous voyage ; heaven grant it be honest, 
I shall rejoice then too. 

GoM. You make him blush. 
To talk of honesty : — you were but now 
In the giving vein, and may think of Gazet, 
Your worship's prentice. 

Vitel. There's gold : be thou free too. 
And master of my shop, and all the wares 
We brought firom Vehioe. 

Gux. Rivo 1 then. 

Vitel. Dear sir, 
Hiis place affords not privacy for discourse ; 
But I can tell you wonders : my rich habit 
Deserves least admiration ; there is nothing 
That can hil in the compass of your wishes. 
Though it were to redeem a thousand slaves 
From the Turkish gallies, or, at home, to erect 
Some pious work, to shame all hospitals, 
But I am master of the means. 

Fran. 'Tis strange. 

Vitel. As I walk, I'll tell you more. 

GaM. Pray you, a word, sir ; 
And then I vrUl put on : I have one boon more. 

Vitet What is't ? speak freely. 

Gat. Thus then : As I am master 
Of your shop and wares, pray you help me to 

some trucking 
With your last she-customer; though she crack 
I vrill endure it with patience. [my best piece, 

Vitel. Leave your prating. 

GoM. I may : you have been doing ; we will do 

Fran. I am amazed, yet vrill not blame nor 
chide you. 
Till you inform me further : yet must say, 
They steer not the right course, nor traffic weU, 
Hut seek a passage to reach heaven through hell. 



SCENE 1.—A Roam in Donusa's Palace. 

Enter Don osa and Mahto. 

• l>oft. When said he he would come again ? 

Mant. He swore. 
Short minutes should be tedious ages to him. 
Until the tender of his second service ; 
So much he seem'd transported with Uie first 

Z>oii. I am sure I was. I charge thee, Manto, 
tell me. 
By all my favours, and my bounties, truly, 
Whether thou art a virgin, or, like me. 
Hast forfeited that name ? 

Mumt. A virgin, madam. 

At my years! being a vraiting-woman, and in 

court too ! 
That were miraculous. I so long since lost 
That barren burthen, I almost forget 
That ever I was one. 

Don, And could thy friends 
Read in thy face, thy maidenhead gone, that thou 
Hadst parted with it ? 

Mant. No, indeed : I past 
For current many years siter, till, by fortune, 
Long and continued practice in the sport 
Blew up my deck ; a husband then vras found out 
By my indulgent fother, and to the world [then, 
An was made whole again. What need yon fear. 

flOXKB n. 



lliat, tt yoar pleasure, may repair your honoar, 
Darst any envioiu or malicious tongue 
Prerame to taint it ? 

Enter Carasib. 

/>0f». How now ? 

Car. Madam, the basha 
Humbly desires access. 

Don, If it had been 
My neat Italian, thou hadst met my wishes. 
Tdifhim we would be private. 

Car, So I did, 
But he is much importunate. 

Mont. Best dispatch h.'m : 
His lingering here else will deter the other 
From making his approach. 

Don. His entertainment 
Shall not invite a second visit. Go ; 
Say we are pleased. 

Enter Mustapha. 

Must. AU happiness 

Don, Be sudden. 
'Twas saucy rudeness in you, sir, to press 
On my retirements ; but ridiculous folly 
To waste the time, that might be better spent, 
In complimental wishes. 

Car. There's a cooling 
For his hot encounter 1 [Aiide. 

Don. Come you here to stare ? 
If you have lost your tongue, and use of speech, 
Resign your government ; there's a mute's place 

In my uncle's court, I hear; and you may work roe, 
To write for your preferment. 

Mtuta, This is strange 1 
I know not, madam, what neglect of mine 
Has call'd this scorn upon me. 

Don. To the purpose 

My will's a reason, and we stand not bound 
To yield account to you. 

Miuta. Not of your angers : 
But with erected ears I should hear from you 
The story of your good opinion of me, 
Confirm'd by love and fatours. 

Don. How deserved ? 
I have considered you from head to foot, 
And can find nothing in that wainscot face. 
That can teach me to dote ; nor am I taken 
With your grim aspect, or tadpole-like com- 
Those scars you glory in, I fear to Iook on ; 
And had much rather hear a merry tale, 
Than all your battles won with blood and sweat, 
Though you belch forth the stink too in the service, 
And swear by your mustacbios all is true. 
You are yet too rough for me : purge and take 

Purchase |)erf\imers, get me some French tailor 
To new-create you ; the first shape you were 

made with 
Is quite worn out ; let your barber wash your face 

You look yet like a bugbear to fright children ; 
Till when I take my leave — Wait me Carazie. 

[^Exoinl DoNUSA and Carazik. 

Mustm. Stay yon, my lady's cabinet-key. 

ISeUes AlAirro. 

Mani. How's this, sir ? 

Muttm. Stay, and stand quietly, or you shall 
(all else. 

Not to firk your belly up, flounder-like, but never 

To rise again. OiTer but to unlock 

These doors that stop your fugitive tongue, 

(obsenre me,) 
And, by my fury, I'll fix there this bolt 

\J}ravn kit scimitar. 
To bar thy speech for ever. So ! be safe now ; 
And but resolve me, not of what I doubt. 
Rut bring assurance to a thing believed. 
Thou makest thyself a fortune ; not depending 
On the uncertain favours of a mistress, 
But art thyself one. I'll not so far question 
My judgment and observance, as to ask 
Why I am slighted and oontemn'd ; but in 
Whose favour it is done ? I, that have read 
The copious volumes of all women's falsehood, 
Commented on by the heart* breaking groans 
Of abused lovers ; all the doubts wash d off 
With fruitless tears, the spider's cobweb veil 
Of arguments alleged in their defence, 
Blown off with sighs of desperate men, and they 
Appearing in their full deformity ; 
Know that some other hath displanted me. 
With her dishonour. Has she given it up ? 
Confirm it in two syllables. 

Mani, She has. 

Musta. 1 cherish thy confession thus, and thus ; 

lOipet hfrjewets. 
Be mine. Again I court thee thus, and thus : 
Now prove but constant to my ends. 

Mani. By all 

Musta. Enough ; I dare not doubt thee— >0 
land crocodiles. 
Made of Egyptian slime, accursed women ! 
But 'tis no time to rail— come, my best Man to. 


SCENE II A Street. 

Entfr YiTBLU and Prakciiioo. 

Vitei. Sir, as you are my confessor, you stand 
Not to reveal whatever I discover [bound 

In that religious way : nor dare 1 doubt you. 
Let it suffice you have made me see my follies. 
And wrought, perhaps, compunction ; for 1 would 

Appear an hypocrite. But, when you impose 
A penancie on me beyond flesh and blood 
To undergo, you must instruct me how 
To put off the condition of a man : 
Or, if not pardon, at the least, excuse 
My disobedience. Yet, despair nut, sir; 
Fur, though I take mine own way, 1 shall do 
Soaething that may hereafter, to my glory. 
Speak me your scholar. 

Fran. I enjoin you not 
To go, but send. 

Vitel. That were a petty trial ; 
Not worth one, so long taught, and exercised. 
Under so grave a master. Reverend Francisco, 
My friend, my father, in that word, my all ! 
Rest confident you shall hear something of me, 
That will redeem me in your good opinion ; 
Or judge me lost for ever. Send Gaxet 
(She shall give order that he may have entrance) 
To acquaint you with my fortunes. lExit 

Fran. Go, and prosper. 
Holy saints guide and strengthen thee ! however, 
As thy endeavours are, so may they find 
Gracious acceptance. 


KnUr(Utm, MndOmuAun in rofft, 
'}a». Nf/w, jtiu do not roar, tir : 

/ft tpoik Wfi tempMUf nor Uke ear-rent from 

poor •\u>\t'\Lwytf, Do yon remember that, air ? 

mrnr your murkn here atill. 

Fran, Cai» tbia \ms |>oftfeible ? 
iU woiulera are not ceaaad tUeo. 

Grim. Do, abuae me, 
HjAt on me, npurn me, pull me by the noae, 
Tliruat out tlirae fitry eyea, that yeaterday 
Wimld have hnilt'd thee dead. 

(fU», () Mve me, air I 

iirim. Kr^r nothing. 
I am tame and (|ulet { there'a no wrong can force 
To rememlier what I waa. 1 have forgot [me 
I eVr h»d irrful firrceneaa, a aiecl'd heart, 
Inarnaihle of compaaiion to othcra; 
Nor U it rti that I ahould think myaelf 
Worth mine own pity. Oh 1 

Fran. Cirowa tkia dejection 
Prom hia diNgraoe, do vou aay ? 

Oa», U'hv, hn'a caahier'd, air ; 
Ilia ahipa, hia gooda, hia livery-punka, confiacate : 
And tlirre ia auoh a punialimeat laid u|>ou him ! — 
Tlie mlaerahin n>gue uiuat ateal no more. 
Nor drink, nor drab. 

Fran, Doea that tormtnt him ? 

(i«$, (), air, 
Hhould the atate take order to bar men of acrea 
From Ihrve two laudable reoitmtioua, 
Drinking and whoring, how ahould panders pur- 

Or thrifty whi>rea build hoapiUU ? 'Slid ! if I, 
That, ainiHi 1 am matle Aree, may write myaelf 
A eity gallant, ahould forfeit two auch chartera, 
I ahould In* atoned to death, and ne'er be pitied 
lly the Uveriea of thoae oompauiea. 

FruH. You'll be whipt, air. 
If yuu bridle not your tonftte. Haste to the 
Your ntaater looks for you. [palace, 

<*4ur. My Huondam master. 
Kloh sons h>r|tel they ever had poor fathers; 
In aervanta 'tis uuMre pardoiuMe : as a ixtmiMuiioB, 
tU so« I may v^onsent : but, is there hope, sir, 
I lie haa g\kt me a good chapwoman? pray yoa. 
A word (tr two in mv behidt*. [write 

Fr^f^ i>ol, nuiHii 1 

(•4«lS* 1 ^f^ swme ittsurreotioiit. 

/V<#n, lleiH'e 1 
I t«<Mr. 1 \anish. C£nt. 

iirim. Why should 1 sl«dy a dbl^nce or com- 

In whtHu hUck guilt and misery, if bftUnevd, 

I know ihU whii'h >ikOttld turn the scade^ look 

\ daiv not ; ^vr, shouUI it but Kr W^ved 
I That I, d>tKl drep in heil^s wk^ K^vrfHi c\>kHkr», 

Should darv to ho|« ^vr iiw4\7« it wooUl kAv« 
! No rhes'k «vr tJMiug in wmth iiii»ocvnt« 
To ^vilch at siM the de^il ifeeW nought SMukiud 

No^ I luwM ij|^^«»w«r4» dow«wmrU; ilw«gh hn 

tV^M hiMvow idl IW fV>no«i» wi«^ of gncif. 
Mv MM^umaiiKH^ «t»^^t \fi «M» wv«M ibtttck tWir 

JkmU sink tWr«i to Ml wii^ wsk 

But that there is no punishment be) ond 

Enter Maater and Boatawain. 

Matter. Yonder he is ; I pity him. 

Boats. Take comfort, captain ; we live still to 

serve yon. 
Grim. Serve me ! I am a devil already : leave 

me — [heard 

Stand further off, yon are blasted else ! I have 
Schoolmen affirm man's body is composed * 
Of the four elements ; and, as in league together 
They nourish life, so each of them affords 
Liberty to the soul, when it grows weary 
Of this fleshy prison. Which shall I make choice 
The fire ? no ; 1 shall feel that hereafter, [of > 
The earth will not receive me. Should some 

Snatch me into the air, and I hang there, 
Perpetual plagues would dwell upon the earth ; 
And those superior bodies, that pour down 
Their cheerful influence, deny to pass it. 
Through those vast regions I have infected. 
The sea ? ay, that b justice : there I ploughed up 
Mischief as deep as hell : there, there, I'll hide 
This cursed lump of clay. May it tnm rocks. 
Where plummet's weight could never reach the 

And grind the ribs of all such barks as press 
The ocean's breast in my unlawful course ! 
1 haste then to thee ; let thy ravenous womb. 

Whom all things else deny, be now my tomb ! 


Matter. Follow him, and restrain him. 


Fran. Let this stand 
For an example to you. I'll provide 
A li>dging for him, and apply such cores 
To his wounded conscience, as heaven hath lent 

He's now my second care ; and my prolession 
Hmds me to teach the desperate to repent, 
.\s far as to confirm the innocent. [SmmC 

SCENE IIL-^4 Remn m Asaicbi«*s PmUee. 


MvsrAniA, Afa, mmd 

Atmrnt^ Y'oar pleasure ? 

Mmstm, *Twill eJLact yoor private car ; 
And. when you hare received it, vo« wiQ 
Too saany luiow it. 

AmmS Leave the room : bat be 
VIltbiB o«r calL — CCjmmr AsaanrfC^vlafr 

Now. sir, what boraiag «ccr 
yWith whielu it seems, vo« are tmra'd 

bring T0«. 
To ^veiM.^ in aay advice or power ? 

JIImIm. The &re 
Will ncbfr reach ywt. 

.iMm^ Me! 

JtfttsAs. And coeMOW bock; 
Fvx^ *tB tapvMsxbfe ti> be pwK oat. 
Bttfi wt^ the Nood of cboec tfjot kxaJIe Be : 
\Qai wC oaK viad i.>f it is w preduursv 
lot b««]B9 bonvw'd frooi tbe (V:kjm.ia spnir 
ThjkS Wfiter 't». I thisk. b«Ch we fhooiii f9 
Tkua fcovw thtf A i ^rafl i a a wait chat as 
Ftv« ^lYCiMJbm tiuthtf. [ 




Asam, To the point, and quickly : 
tkese winding circumstances in reUtiont, 
Sddom environ truth. 

Mutta. Truth, Asambeg I 

Auum. Truth, Mustapha. I said it, and add more. 
Ton touch u(>on a string that, to my ear. 
Does sound Donusa. 

Mutta, You then understand 
Who 'tis I aim at. 

Atom, Take heed, Mustapha ; 
Hemember what she is, and whose we are : 
Tis her n^lect. perhaps, that you complain of ; 
And, should you practice to revenge her bcorn, 
With any plot to taint her in her honour, 

HutL Hear me. 

Atom. I will be heard first, — there's no tongue 
^ subject owes, that shall out-thunder mine. 

Mu$ta. WeU, take your way. 

Asam, I then sgain repeat it ; 
If Mustapha dares with malicious breath, 
On jealous suppositions, presume 
To blast the blossom of Donusa's fame, 
Because he is denied a happiness 
Which men of equal, nay, of more desert, 
Have sued in vain for 

Mutta, More ! 

A$am, More. 'Twas I spake it. 
Tlie basha of Natolia and myself 
Were rivals for her ; either of us brought 
More victories, more trophies, to ple4id for us 
To our great master, than you daw lay claim to ; 
Yet still, by his allowance, she was left 
To her election : each of us owed nature 
As much for outward form and inward worth. 
To make way for us to her grace and favour, 
As you brought wit|i you. We were heard, re- 
pulsed ; 
Yet thought it no dishonour to sit down 
With the disgrace, if not to force affection 
May merit such a name. 

Mutta, Have you done yet ? 

Atam, Be, therefore, more than sure the ground 
You raise your accusation, may admit [un which 
No undermining of defence in her : 
For if. with pregnant and apparent proofs, 
Surh as mny force a judge, more than inclined. 
Or }tar(ial in her cause, to swear her guilty. 
You win not me to set off your belief; 
Neither our ancient frif-ndship, nor the rites i 

Of sacred hospitality, to which 
I would not offer violence, shall protect you : 
— Now, when you please. 

Mutta. I will not dwell upon 
Much circumstance ; yet cannot but profess, 
With the assurance of a loyalty 
Equal to yours, the reverence I owe 
The sultan, and all such his blood makes sacred ; 
That there is not a vein of mine, which yet is 
Unemptied in his service, but this moment 
Should freely open, so it might wash off 
The stains of her dishonour. Could you think, 
Or, though you saw it, credit your own eyes. 
That she, the wonder and amazement of 
Her sex, the pride and glory of the empire. 
That hath disdain 'd you, slighted roe, and boasted 
A frozen coldness, which no appetite 
Or height of blood could thaw ; should now so far 
Be hurried with the violence of her lust. 
As, in it burying her high birth, and fame, 
Basely descend to fill a Christian's arms ; 

And to him yield her virgin honour up, 
Nay, sue to him to take it.' 

Atawu A Christian! 

Mutta, Temper 
Your admiration : — and wbat Christian, think youP 
No prince disguised, no man of mark, nor honour ; 
No daring undertaker in our service, 
But one, whose lips her foot should scorn to touch ; 
A poor mechanic pedlar. 

Atam. He I 

Mutta. Nay, more ; 
Whom do you think she made her scout, nay bawd, 
To find him out, but me ? What place make 

choice of 
To wallow in her foul and loathsome pleasures, 
But' in the palace .' Who the instruments' 
Of close conveyance, but the captain of 
Your guard, the aga, and that man of trust. 
The warden of the inmost port? — I'll prove this ; 
And, though I fail to shew her in the act. 
Glued like a neighing gennet to her stallion, 
Your incredulity shaU be convinced 
With proofs I blush to think on. 

Atam. Never yet 
This flesh felt such a fever. By the life 
And fortune of great Amurath, should our prophet 
(Whme name 1 bow to) in a vision speak this, 
'Twould make me doubtful of my faith ! — Lead on ; 
And, when my eyes and ears are, like yours, guilty. 
My rage shall then appear ; for I will do 
Something — but what, I am not yet determin'd. 


SCENE Vf.r—An outer Rwm in Donusa's 


Rnttr CARASia, Manto, and Oasbt gailjf dretted. 

Car, They are private to their wishes ? 

Mont, Doubt it not 

GoM, A pretty structure this ! a court do yon 
call it .> 
Vaulted and arch'd I O, here has been old jumbling 
Behind this arras. 

Car, Prithee let's have some sport 
With this fresh oodshead. 

Mant, I am out of tune. 
But do as you please. — My conscience ! — tush 1 

the hope 
Of liberty throws that burthen off ; I roust 
Go watch, and make discovery. lAgide, and exit. 

Car. lie is musing, 
And will talk to himnelf ; he cannot hold : 
The poor fool's ravish 'd. 

Gag. 1 am in my master's clothes. 
They fit me to a hair too ; let but any 
Indifferent gamester measure us inch by inch, 
Or weigh us by the standard, I may pass : 
I have been proved and proved again true metal. 

Car. How he surveys himself ! 

GoM. 1 have heard, that some 
Have fooled themselves at court into good fortunea. 
That never hoped to thrive by wit. in the city. 
Or honesty in the country. If I do not 
Make the best laugh at me, I'll weep for mysc>lf. 
If they give me hearing : 'tis resolved — I'll try 
What may be done. By your favour, sir, I pray 
Were you born a courtier ? [you. 

Car. No, sir ; why do you ask .* 

GaM. Because I thought that none oould be pre- 
But such as were begot ther& [fen'd 



ACT lif. 

Car, O, sir ! many ; 
And, howsoe'er you are a citi2en bom. 
Yet if your mother were a handsome woman, 
And erer long'd to see a masque at coorty 
It is an even lay, but that you had 
A courtier to your father ; and I think lo, 
You bear yourself so sprightly. 

GoM. It may be ; 
But pray you, sir, had 1 such an itch upon me 
To change my copy, is there hope a place 
May be had here for money ? 

Car. Not without it. 
That I dare warrant you. 

Gojr. I have a pretty stock, 
And would not have my good parts undiscover'd ; 
What places of credit are there ? 

Car, There's your b^lerbeg. 

Gan. By no means that ; it comes too near the 
And most prove so, that come there. 

Car, Or your sanzacke. 

GaM, Sauce-jack ! fie, none of that. 

Car. Your chiaus. 

Gam. Nor that 

Car. Chief gardener. 

GoM, Out upon*t ! 
'Twill put me in mind my mother was an herb- 
What is your place, I pray you ? [woman. 

Car. Sir, an eunuch. 

Gam. An eunuch ! very fine, i*faith; an eunuch ! 
And what are your employments ? 

Car. Neat and easy : 
In the day, I wait on my lady when she eats, 
Carry her pantofles, bear up her train ; 
Sing her asleep at night, and, when she pleases, 
I am her bedfellow. 

GoM, How! her bedfellow ? 
And lie wi* h her ? 

Car, Yes, and lie with her. 

GoM. O rare I 
I'll be an eunuch, tnough I sell my shop for't, 
And all my wares. 

Car. It is but parting with 
A precious stone or two : I know the price on't 

GoM. Ill part with all my stones; and, when 
I am 
An eunuch, I'll so toss and touse the ladiei 
Pray you lietp me to a chapman. 

Car. The court surgeon 
Shall do you that favour. 

GoM. 1 am made ! an eunuch ! 

Enttr MAsrro. 

Mant. Carazie, quit the room. 
Car, Come, sir ; we*il treat of 
Your business further. 

Gam, Excellent ! an eunuch I 


SCENE V,—An inner Room in the tame, 

EnUr DoNUBA and Yitblu. 

Vitel, Leave me, or I am lost again : no prayers. 
No penitence, can redeem me. 

Don, Am I grown 
yXd or deform 'd since yesterday? 

VUel. You are still, 
(Although the sating of your lust hath sullied 
The immaculate whiteness of your vii^n beauties,) 
Too £ur for me to look on : and, though pureness. 

The sword with which you ever fought and con- 
Is ravish'd from you by unchaste desires, [quer'd, 
You are too strong for flesh and blood to trei^ 

Though iron grates were interposed between usy 
To warrant me from treason. 

Don. Whom do you fear ? [mother, 

Vitel, That human frailty I took from my 
That, as my youth increased, grew stronger on me; 
That still pursues me, and, though once recoverM^ 
In scorn of reason, and, what's more, religion. 
Again seeks to betray me. 

Don, If you mean, sir. 
To my embraces, you turn rebel to 
The laws of nature, the great oueen and mother 
Of all productions, and deny aUe^iance, 
Where yon stand bound to pay it. 

Vitel. IwiUstop 
Mine ears against these charms, which, if Ulyssea 
Could live again, and hear this second Syren, 
Though bound with cables to his mast, his ship too 
Fasten'd with all her anchors, this enchantment 
Would force him, in despite of all resistance. 
To leap into the sea, and follow her ; 
Although destruction, with outstretch'd arms. 
Stood ready to receive him. 

Don, Gentle sir. 
Though you deny to hear me, yet vouchsafe 
To look upon me : though I use no language, 
The grief for this unkind repulse will print 
Such a dumb eloquence upon my face, 
As will not only plead but prevail for me. 

Vitel. I am a coward. I will see and hear yon. 
The trial, else, is nothing ; nor the conquest. 
My temperance shall crown me with hereafter. 
Worthy to be remember' d. Up, my virtue ! 
And holy thoughts and resolutions arm me 
Against this fierce temptation ! give me voice 
Tuned to a zealous anger, to express 
At what an over-value I have purchased 
The wanton treasure of your virgin bounties ; 
That, in their false fruition, heap upon me 
Despair and horror. — That I could with that ease 
Redeem my forfeit innocence, or cast up 
The poison I received into my entrails, 
From the allunng cup of your enticements. 
As now I do deliver back the price 

\_Retumt iktjei^de. 

,And salary of your lust ! or thus unclothe me 
Of sin's gay trappings, the proud livery 

[Throvrt qffhit cloak and doubUL 
Of wicked pleasure, which but worn and" heated 
With the fire of entertainment and consent^ 
Like to Alcides' fatal shirt, tears off 
Our fie»h and reputation both together. 
Leaving our ulcerous follies bare and open 
To all malicious censure ! 

Don, You must giant. 
If you hold that a loss to you, mine equals. 
If not transcends it. If you then first tasted 
That poison, as you cal^ it, I brought with me 
A palate unacquainted with the relish 
Of those delights, which most, as I have heard, 
Greedily swallow ; and then the offence. 
If my opinion may be believed. 
Is not so great : howe'er, the wrong no more^ 
Than if Hippolitus and the virgin huntress 
Should meet and kiss together. 

Vitel, What defences 
Can lust raise to maintain a precipic* 

EnUr Abambbo and Mu8TAraA» abvve. 

To the abyss of looseness ! — but aflfords not 
The least stair, or the fastening of one foot, 
To reascend that glorious height we fell from. 

Musta. By Mahomet, she courts him I 

[DoirusA JkJMsIf . 

Aiam. Nay, kneels to him ! 
Observe, the scornful villain tums away too, 
As glorying in his conquest. 

Don. Are you marble ? 
If Christians have mothers, sure they share in 
The tigress' fierceness ; for, if you were owner 
Of human pity, you could not endure 
A princess to kneel to you, or look on 
These falling tears which hardest rocks would 

And yet remain unmoved. Did you but give me 
A taste of happiness in your embraces, 
That the remembrance of the sweetness of it 
Might leave perpetual bitierness behind it ? 
Or shew'd me what it was to be a wife. 
To live a widow ever ? 

A*am. She has confest it ! 
Seixe on him, villains. 

Bnttr Oaplaga and Aga, vittli JanizarioSk 

O the Furies ! 
[_Extunt AAAitBio and Mustai'Ha above* 

Don, How 1 
Are we betray *d ? 

Viiel, The better ; I eipected 
A Turkish faith. 

Don. Who am I, that you dare this ? 
'Tis 1 that do command you to forbear 
A touch of violence. 

Apa. We, already, madam, 
Have satisfied your pleasure further than 
We know to answer it. 

Cap. W^ould we were well oflF 1 
We stand too far engaged, I fear. 

Z>ofi. For us ? 

We'll bring you safe off t wno darea contradict 
What ii our pleasure* 

Re-enter AaAMaao unU MosTAraiA, below, 

Aiam. Spurn the dog to prison. 
Ill answer you anon. 

Viiel. What punishment 
Soe'er I undergo, I am still a Christian. 

lExit Guard with Ynrix,i. 

Don. What bold presumption's this? Under 
Am I to fall, that set my foot upon [what law 
Your statutes and decrees ? 

Mnsta. The crime committed. 
Our Alcoran calls death. 

Don, Tush ! who is here. 
That is not Amurath's slave, and so, unfit 
To sit a judge upon his bloods 

Asam. You have lost. 
And shamed the privilege of it ; robb'd me too 
Of my soul, my understanding, to behold 
Yuur base unworthy fall from your high virtue. 

Don. I do appeal to Amurath. 

Asam, We will offer , 

No violence to your person, till we know 
His sacred pleasure ; till when, under guard 
You shall continue here. 

Don. Shall! 

Asam, I have said it. 

Don, We shall remember tfaii. 

Asam. It ill becomes 
Such as are guilty, to deliver threats 
Against the innocent. [ The Guard leads off Do- 

NUBA.] — I could tear this flesh now, 
But 'tis in vain ; nor must I talk, but do. 
Provide a welUmann'd galley for Constantinople : 
Such sad news never came to our great master. 
As he directs, we muse proceed, and know 
No will but his, to whom what's ours we owe. 


SCENE h—A Room in Grim aldi's House. 

Enter Maater and Boatswain. 

Matt. He does begin to eat ? 

Boatsw. A little, master ; 
But our best hope for his recovery is, that 
\\'\9 ra/ing leaves him ; and those dreadful words. 
Damnation and dexpair, with which he ever 
Endi'd all his discourses, are forgotten. 

Mast. This stranger is a most religious man sure ; 
And 1 am doubtful, whether his charity 
In the relieving of our wants, or care 
To cure the wounded conscience of Grimaldi, 
Des«rve8 more admiration. 

Boatsw. Can you guess 
What the reason should be, that we never mention 
The church, or the high altar, but his melancholy 
Grows and increases on him ? 

Mast, I have heard him. 
When he gloried to profess himself an atheist. 
Talk often, and with much delight and boasting. 
Of a rude prank he did ere he turn'd pirute ; 
The memory of which, as it appears, 
Lies heavy on him. 

Boatsw. Pray you, let me understand it. 

Mast. Upon a solemn day, when the whole city 
Join'd in devotion and with barefoot steps 
Pass'd to St. Mark's, the duke, and the whole 

Helping to perfect the religious pomp 
With which they were received; when all men else 
Were full of tears, and groan'd beneath the weij^ht 
Of past offences, of whose heavy burthen 
They came to be absolved and freed ; our captain, 
W'hether in scorn of thosi^ so pious rites 
lie had no feeling of, or else drawn to it 
Out of a wanton, irreligious midness, 
(I know not which,) ran tu the hwly man. 
As he was doing of the work of grace. 
And snatching from his hands the sanctified means, 
Dash'd it upon the pavement. 

Boatsw. How escaped he. 
It being a deed deserving death with torture .'' 

Mast, The general amazement of the jteople 
Gave him leave to quit the temple, and a f^omlola. 
Prepared, it seems, before, brought him aboard ; 
Since which he ne'er saw Venice. The remem- 
brance I 



AOr rw. 

Of tbi«, it seems, tonnents him ; aggravated 
With a strung belief he cannot receive pardon 
For this foul fact, but from his hands, against 
It was committed. [whom 

Boatiw. And what course intends 
His heavenly physician, reverend Francisco, 
To beat down this opiuion ? 

Mast. He promised 
To use some holy and religious fineness, 
To this good end ; and, in the meantime, charged 

To keep bim dark, and to admit no visitants : 
But on no terms to cross him. Here he comes. 

EntfT GRiMALDf. teilX a book. 

Grim. Vor theft, he that restores treble the 

Makes satisfaction ; and, for want of means 
To do so, as a slave must serve it out. 
Till he hath made full payment. There's hope left 

Oh ! with what willingness would I give up 
My liberty to those that I have pillaged ; 
And wish the numbers of my years, though wasted 
In the most sordid slavery, might equal 
The rapines I have made ; till, with one voice, 
My patient sufferings might exact, from my 
Most cruel creditors, a full remission. 
An eye's loss with an eye, limb's with a limb : 
A sad account ! — yel, to find peace within here. 
Though all such as I have maim'd and dismember'd 
In drunken quarrels, or o*ercome with rage, 
When they were given up to my power, stood here 

A nd cried for restitution ; to appease them, 
I would do a bloody justice on myself : 
Pull out these eyes, that guided me to ravish 
Their sight from others ; lop these legs, that bore 

To barbarous violence ; with this hand cut off 
This instrument of wrong, till nought were left me 
But this poor bleeding limbless trunk, which gladly 
I would divide among them. — Ha I what think 1 

Enter Franciboo in a cope, like a DUhup. 
Of petty forfeitures ! In this reverend habit, 
All that I am turn'd into eyes, I look on 
A deed of mine so fiend-like, that repentance, 
Though with my tears I taught the sea new tides, 
Can never wash off: all my thefts, my rapes, 
Are venial trespasses, compared to what 
I offer'd to that shape, and in a place too, 
Where I stood bound to kneel to't. IKtuOt, 

Fran. 'Tis forgiven : 
I with his tongue, whom, iu these sacred veAtments, 
With impure hands thou didst offend, pronounce it. 
1 bring peace to thee ; see that thou deserve it 
In thy fair life hereafter. 

Grim. Can it be ! 
Dare I believe this vision, or hope 
A pardon e'er may find me ? 

Fran. Purchasic it 
\\y zealous undertakings, and no more 
'Twill be remembered. 

Grim. What celestial balm [Riiet. 

I feel now pour'd into my wounded conscience ! 
What penance is there Til not undergo. 
Though ne'er so sharp and rugged, with more 

I an flesh and blood e'er tatted 1 shew me true 

Arm'd with an iron whip, and I will meet 

The stripes she brings along with her, as if 

They were the gentle touches of a hand 

That comes to cure me. Can good deeds redeem 

I will rise up a wonder to the world, [me ? 

When I have given strong proofs how I am alter'd. 

I, that have sold such as professed the faith 

That I was bom in, to captivity, 

Will make their number equal, that I shall 

Deliver from the oar ; and win as many 

By the clearness of my actions, to look on 

Their misbelief, and loath it. I will be 

A convoy for all merchants ; and thought wordiy 

To be reported to the world, hereafter. 

The child of your devotion ; nurs'd up, 

And made strong by your charity, to break throng 

All dangers hell can bring forth to oppose me. 

Nor am I, though my fortunes were thought despe- 

Now you have reconciled me to myself, [rate, 

So void of worldly means, but, in despite 

Of the proud viceroy's wrongs, I can do something 

To witness of my change : when you iilease, try me. 

And I will perfect what you shall ei^oin me. 

Or fall a joyful mart^rr* 

Fran. You will reap 
The comfort of it ; live yet undiscover'd, 
And with your holy meditations strengthen 
Your Christian resolution : ere long. 
You shall hear further from me. \,EriL 

Grim. I'll attend 
All your commands with patience :— come, my 
I hitherto have lived an ill example, [mates, 

And, as your captain, led you on to mischief ; 
But now will truly labour, that good men 
May say hereafter of me, to my glory, 
(Let but my power and means hand with my will,) 
His good endeavours did weigh down his ill. 


Be-enter Ffumaaoo, in hit usual habit. 

Fran. This penitence is not counterfeit : how- 
Good actions are in themselves rewarded. 
My travail's to meet with a double crown. 
If that Vitelli come off safe, and prove 
Himself the master of his wild affections — 

Enter Oaxst. 
O, I shall have intelligence ; how now, Gazet, 
Why these sad looks and tears ? 
Gojg. Tears, sir 1 I have lost 
My worthy master. Your rich heir seems to 

A miserable fiather, your young widow, 
Following a bedrid husband to his grave. 
Would have her neighbours think she cries and 

That she must part with such a goodman Do- 
nothing ; 
Wlien 'tis, because he stays so long above ground. 
And hinders a rich suitor. — All's come out, sir. 
We are smoak'd for being coney-catchers : my 
Is put in prison ; his she-customer [master 

Is under guard too ; these are things to weep for : — 
But mine own loss consider'd, and what a fortune 
I have had, as they say, snatch'd out of my chi)ps. 
Would make a man run mad. 

Fran. 1 scarce have leisure, 
T am so wholly taken up with sorrow 
For my loved pupil, to enquire thy hi9 1 
Yet I wiU hear it. 

wnxiM n* 



Gwn. Why, sir, I had bought a pUce, 
A place of credit too, an I had gone through 

with it; 
I should have been made an eonnch : there was 

For a late poor prentice ! when, upon the sudden. 
There was such a hurlybnrly in the court. 
That I was glad to run away, and carry 
The price of my office with me. 

Fran. Is that all ? 
Yon have made a saving voyage : we must think 
Though not to free, to comfort sad Vitelli ; [now, 
My griered soul suffers for him. 

GoM. I am sad too ; 
fiat had I been an eunuc h 

Fran, Think not on it. [Ammf . 

SCENE II_ il Hallin Abambbo's Paiaee. 

EnUr AsAMBBo ; he unlocks a Door, ami Paduma eom«t 


Asam, Be your own guard : obsequiousness and 
Shall win you to be mine. Of all restraint 
For ever take your leave, no threats shall awe you. 
No jealous doubts of mine disturb your freedom. 
No fee*d spies wait upon your steps : your virtue, 
And due consideration in yourself 
Of what is noble, are the faithful helps 
I leave you, as supporters, to defend you 
From fallinf^ basely. 

Paui, This is wondrous strange : 
Whence flows this alteration ? 

Atom, From true judgment ; 
And strong assurance, neither grates of iron, 
Hemm*d in with walls of brass, strict guards, high 
The forfeiture of honour, nor Uie fear [birth, 

Of infiuny or punishment, can stay 
K woman slaved to appetite, from being 
False and unworthy. 

Paui. You are grown satirical 
Against our sex. Why, sir, I durst produce 
Myself in our defence, and from you challenge 
A testimony that's not to be denied, 
AU fall not under this unequal censure. 
I, that have stood your flatteries, your threats, 
Borne up against your fierce temptations ; scom*d 
The cruel means you practised to supplant me, 
Having no arms to help me to hold out, 
But love of piety, and constant goodness : 
If you are unconfirmed, dare again boldly 
Enter into the lists, and combat with 
All opposites man's malice can bring forth 
To shake me in my chastity, built upon 
The rock of my religion. 

Atom. I do wish 
I could beUeve you ; but, when I shall shew you 
A most incredible example of 
Your frailty, in a princess, sued and sought to 
By men of worth, of rank, of eminence ; courted 
By happiness itsdf, and her cold temper 
Approved by many years ; yet she to fUl, 
Fall from herself, her glories, nay, her safety, 
Into a gulf of shame and black despair ; 
I think you'll doubt yourself, or, in beholding 
Her punishment, for ever be deterr'd 
From yielding basely. 

PauL I would see this wonder ; 
Tis. sir, my first petition. i 2 

lExit Pai.-uma. 

Atom. And thus granted : 
Above, yon shall observe alL 

Enttr MusTAPHA. 

Mfisia. Sir, I sought you. 
And must relate a wonder. Since 1 studied. 
And knew what man was, I was never witness 
Of such invincible fortitude as this Christian 
Shews in his sufferings : all the torments that 
We could present him with, to fright his con- 
Confirm'd, not shook it ; and those heavy chains. 
That eat into his flesh, appear'd to him 
Like bracelets made of some loved mistress' hairs 
We kiss in the remembrance of her favours. 
I am strangely taken vrith it, and have lost 
Much of my Airy. 

Asam. Had he suflfer'd poorly. 
It had call*d on my contempt ; but manly patience, 
And all-commanding virtue, wins upon 
An enemy. I shall think upon him. — Ha ! 

Enter Aga with a blaek Box. 

So soon retum'd ! This speed pleads in excuse 
Of your late fault, which I no more remember. 
What's the grand signior's pleasure ? 

Aga. 'Tis enclosed here. 
The box too that contains it may inform you 
How he stands affected : I am trusted with 
Nothing but this. On forfeit of your head, 
She must have a speedy triaL 

Asam. Bring her in 
In black, as to her funeral : [Ejeii Aga.] 'tis the 

Her hxM wills her to wear, and which, in justice, 
I dare not pity. Sit, and take your place : 
However in her life she has degenerated. 
May she die nobly, and in that confirm 
Her greatness and high blood ! 

St^emn Music. Re-enter the Aga, urith the Capiaga Uatlinfi 
in DonruHA in hlaek, her train borne up by Carasik ami 
Manto. a Guard attending. Paullma enters above. 

Must a. 1 now could melt— 
But soft compassion leave me. 

Mant. I am affrighted 
With this dismal preparation. Should the enjopng 
Of loose desires find ever such conclusions, 
AU women would be Vestals. 

Don. That you clothe me 
In this sad Uvery of death, assures me 
Your sentence is gone out before, and I 
Too late am call'd for, in my guilty cause 

To use qualification or excuse 

Yet must I not part so with mine own strengths. 
But borrow, from my modesty, boldness, to 
Enquire by whose authority you sit 
My judges, and whose warrant digs my grave 
In the frowns you dart against my life ? 

Asam. See here, 
This fatal sign and vrarrant ! This, brought to 
A general, fighting in the head of his 
Victorious troops, ravishes from his liand 
His even then conquering sword ; this, shewn unto 
The sultan's brothers, or his sons, delivers 
His deadly anger ; and, all hopes laid by. 
Commands them to prepare themselves for heaven i 
Which would stand with the quiet of your soul, 
To think upon, and imitate. 

Dan. Give me leave 
A little to complain ; first, of the hard 




Condition of my fortune, which may move you, 
Though not to rise up intercessors for me, 
Yet, in remembrance of my former life, 
(This being the first spot tainting mine honour,) 
To be the means to bring me to bis presence ; 
And then I doubt not, but I could allege 
Such reasons in mine own defence, or plead 
So humbly, (my tears helping,) that it -should 
Awake his sleeping pity. 

' Atom. 'Tis in Tain. 
If you have aught to say, you shall have hearing ; 
And, in me, think him present. 

Don. I would thus then 
First kneel, and kiss his feet ; and after, tell him 
How lonf? I had been his darling ; what delight 
My infant years aflbrded him; how dear 
He prized his sister in both bloods, my mother : 
That she, like him, had frailty, that to me 
Descends as an inheritance ; then conjure him, 
By her blest ashes, and his father's soul. 
The sword that rides upon his thigh, his right hand 
Holding the sceptre and the Othoman fortune, 
To have compassion on me. 

Asam. But suppose 
(As I am sure) he would be deaf, what then 
Could you infer ? 

Don. I, then, would thus rise up, 
A nd to his teeth tell him he was a tyrant, 
A most voluptuous and insatiable epicure 
In his own pleasures , which he hugs so dearly, 
As proper and peculiar to himself. 
That he denies a moderate lawful use 
Of all delight to others. And to thee. 
Unequal judge, I speak as much, and charge thee. 
Hut with impartial eyes to look into 
Thyself, and then consider with what justice 
Thou canst pronounce my sentence. Unkind 

To make weak women servants, proud men masters I 
Indulgent Mahomet, do thy bloody laws 
Call my embraces with a Christian death, 
Having my heat and May of youth to plead 
In my excuse ? and yet want power to punish 
These that, with scorn, break through thy cobweb 

And laugh at thy decrees ? To tame their lusts 
There's no religious bit : let her be fair, 
And pleasing to the ftye, though Persian, Moor, 
Idolatress, Turk, or Christian, you are privileged, 
And freely may enjoy her. At this instant, 
I know, unjust man, thou hast in thy power 
A lovely Christian virgin ; thy offence 
I£qual, if not transcending mine : why, then, 
( We being both enilty,) dost tbou not descend 
From that usurp d tribunal, and with me 
Walk hand in hand to death ? 

A tarn. She raves ; and we 
IjOmc time to hear her : Read the law. 

Don, Do, do ; 
I stand resolved to suffer. 

Aga. IRftnlt."] If any virgin, of what degree, or quality 
wHJVtff, bom A natural Turk, shall be convicted of corporal 
liNwenewi. and Incontinence with any Christian, she is, by 
thu decree of our great prophet, Mahomet, to lose her 

A$am, Mark that, then tax our justice ! 

Ag*%. Kvur provided, Tliat if tihe, the said (iflcndcr, by 
aay rvaMins, arguments, or pcrsuoainn, can win and pre- 
vail with the said Chrihtian ofTcnding with her, to alter 
hia nslliiiun. and marry her, that then the winning of a 

soul to the Mahometan sect, shall acquit her from all 
shame, disgrace, and punisliment whatsoever. 

Don, I lay hold on that clause, and challenge 
The privilege of the law. [from you 

Mtict. What will you do ? 

Don» Grant me access and means, IMl undertake 
To turn this Christian Turk, and marry him : 
This trial you cannot deny. 

MuKta. O base 1 
Can fear to die make you descend so low 
From your high birth, and brand the Othoman line 
With such a mark of infamy ? 

Adam, This is worse 
Than the parting with your honour. Better suffer 
Ten thousand deaths, and without hope to have 
A place in our great prophet's paradise. 
Than have an act to aftertimes remember*d, 
So foul as this is. 

Mutt. Cheer your spirits, madam ; 
To die is nothing, *tis but parting with 
A mountain of vexations. 

Asam. Think of your honour : 
In dying nobly, you make satisfaction 
For your offence, and you shall live n story 
Of bold heroic courage. 

Don, You shall not fool me 
Out of my life : I claim the law, and sue for 
A speedy trial ; if I fail, you may 
Determine of me as you please. 

Asam, Base woman '. 
But use thy ways, and see thou prosper in them , 
For, if thou fall again intt> my power. 
Thou shalt in vain, after a thousand tortures. 
Cry out for death, that death which now thou 

fliest from. 
Unloose the prisoner's chains. Go, lead her on. 
To try the magic of her tongue. I'll follow . 

XExeunt nil hut A&ahrki. 
I'm on the rack — descend, my best Paulina. 

[^Exit with PACLrxA. 
— ♦ — 

SCENE III,— A Room in the Prison. 
Enter FaANcnim and G<ialer. 

Fran. I come not empty-handed ; I will pur- 
Your favour at what '^te you please. There's gold. 

Gaol. 'Tis the best oratory. I will hazard 
A check for your content.— Below, there ! 

Fitel. [beiow,^ Welcome ! 
Art tliou the happy messenger, that brings me 
News of my death ? 

Gaol. Your hand. Plucks up \nEU.i 

Fran. Now, if you please, 
A little privacy. 

Gaol. You have bought it, sir ; 
Enjoy it freely. IBxiL 

Fran. O, my dearest pupil. 
Witness these tears of joy, I never saw you, 
*Till now, look lovely ; nor durst I ever glory 
In the mind of any man I had built up 
With the hands of virtuous and religious precepts, 
Till this glad minute. Now yuu have made good 
My expectation of you. By my order, 
All Roman Caesars, that led kings in chains, 
Fast bound to their triumphant chariots, if 
Compared with that true glory and full lustre 
You now appear in ; all their boasted honours. 
Purchased with blood and wrong, wo!ild lose their 
And be no more remember'd I [namea. 

Vitei. This ippUuse, 
Confirm'd in your allowance, joys me more 
Than if a thonaand fuU-cramm'd theatres 
Should clap their eager hands, to witness that 
The scene I act did please, and they admire it 
But these are, father, but beginnings, not 
The ends, of my high aims. I grant, to ha^e 
The rebel appetite of flesh and blood, [mastered 
Was far above my strength ; and still owe for it 
Tu that great Power that lent it : but, when I 
Shall make't apparent the grim looks of Death 
Affright me not, and that I can put off 
The food desire of life, (that, like a garment, 
Covers and clothes our frailty,) hastening to 
My martyrdom, as to a heavenly b mquet. 
To which 1 was a choice invited guesi ; 
Then you may boldly say, you did not plough, 
Or trust the barren and ungrateful sands 
With the fruitful grain of your religious counsels. 

Fran, You do instruct your teacher. Let the 
Of your clear life, that lends to good men light, 
but set as gloriously as it did rise* 
(Though sometimes clouded,) you may write nil 
Tu human wishes. [ultra 

Vitel. I have almost gained 
The end o' the race, and will not faint or tire now. 

IU-<nter Gaoler \eHh Aga. 

Aga, Sir, by your leave, — nay, stay not, [to the 
Gaoler, w}m goes cm/] 1 bring comfort. 
The viceroy, taken with the constant bearing 
Of your afflictions ; and presuming too 
You will not change your temper, dues command 
Your irons should be ta'eu off. [ They take off hie 

irone.'] Now arm yourself 
With your old resolution ; suddenly 
You shall be visited. You must leave the room 
And do it without reply. [too, 

Prun. There's no contending : 

Be still thyself, my son. 

\^Rjceunt Aga and FftANCisco. 

ViteL 'Tis not in man. 
Etkttr Duvi^SA, /oUvwni at a distance by AsAMSso, Mus- 

TAPilA, ami I'AUUJVA. 

To change or alter me. 

Paul, Whom do 1 look on ? 
My brother ? 'tis he ! — but no more, my tongue ; 
Thou wilt betray all. lAtide. 

Atam. Let us hear this temptress : 
The fellow looks as he would stop his ears 
Against her [lowerful spells. 

Paul. He is undone else. [Atide. 

VUeL ril stand the encounter — charge me 

Don. I come, sir, {Botes herself. 

A beggar to you, and doubt not to find 
A i^ood man's charity, which if you deny, 
You are cruel to yourself ; a crime a wi^e man 
(And such 1 hold you) would not willingly 
Be guilty of; nor let it find less welcome. 
Though I, a creature you contemn, now shew you 
Tlie way to certain happiness ; nor tliink it 
Imaginary or fantastical. 
And ao not worth the acquiring, in respect 
The passage to it is nor rough nor thorny ; 
No steep hills in the way which you must climb up. 
No monsters to be conquer'd, no ench<intmtrnts 
To be dissolved by counter charms, before 
Y'ou take pusstssion of it. 

Vilel. What strong poison 
Is wrapp'd up in these sugar'd pills ? 

Don, My suit is. 
That you would quit your shoulders of n burthen, 
Under whose ponderous weight you wilfully 
Have too long groan'd, to cast those fetters off, 
With which, with your own hands, you chain your. 

freedom : 
Forsake a severe, nay, imperious mistress. 
Whose service does exact perpetual cares, 
Watchings, and troubles ; and give entertainment 
To one that courts you, whose least favours are 
Variety, and choice of all delights 
Mankind is capable of. 

Vitel. You speak in riddles.. 
What burthen, or what mistress, or what fetters, 
Are those you point at ? 

Don. Those which your religion, 
The mistress you too long have served, compels yoa 
To bear with slave-like patience. 

Vitel. Ha! 

Paul. How bravely 
That virtuous anger shews ! 

Don. Be wise, and weigh 
The prosperous success of things ; if blessings 
Are donatives from heaven, (which, you must grant. 
Were blasphemy to question,) and that 
They are call'd down and pour'd on such as are 
Most gracious with the great Disposer of them. 
Look on our flourishing empire, if the splendor, 
The majesty, and glory of it dim not 
Your feeble sight ; and then turn back, and see 
The narrow bounds of yours, yet that poor remnant 
Rent in as many factions and opinions 
As you have petty kingdoms ; — and then, if 
You are not obstinate against truth and reason, 
You must confess the Deity you worship 
Wants care or power to help you. 

Paul. Hold out now, 
And then thou art victorious. \^AsUl€, 

Asam. How he eyes her ! 

Musta. As if he would look through her. 

Asam. His eyes flame too, 
As threatening violence. 

ViteL But that 1 know 
The devil, thy tutor, fills each part about thee, 
And that I cannot play the exorcist 
To dispossess thee, unless I should tear 
Thy body hmb by limb, and throw it to 
Tlie Furies, that expect it ; I would now 
Pluck out that wicke<l tongue, that hath blasphemed 
The great Omnipoteucy, at whose nod 
The fabric of the world shakes. Dare you bring 
Your juggling prophet in comparison with 
That most inscrutable and infinite Essence, 
That made this All, and comprehends his work ! — 
The place is too profane to mention him 
Whose only name is sacred. O Donusa ! 
How much, in my compassion, 1 suffer. 
That thou, on whom this most excelling form, 
And faculties of discourse, beyond a woman. 
Were by his liberal gift conferred, shouldst still 
Remain in ignorance of him that gave it ! 
I will not foul my mouth to ^ the sorceries 
Of your seducer, his base birth, his whoredoms, 
His strange impostures ; nor deliver how 
He taught a pigeon to feed in his ear, 
'J'hen made his credulous followers believe 
It was an angel, that instructed him 
In the franiinj; of his Alc(»rrin — pray von, mark me 




Asam. These words are death, were he ip nought 

Vitei, Your intent to win me [elie goiltj. 

To be of your belief, proceeded from 
Your fear to die. Can there be strength in that 
Religion, that suffers us to tremble 
At that which every day, nay hour, tc haste to ? 

Don. This is unanswerable, and there's some- 
1 err in my opinion. [thing tells me 

VUel. Cherish it. 
It is a heavenly prompter ; entertain 
This holy motion, and wear on your forehead 
The sacred badge he arms his servants with ; 
Yon shall, like me, with scorn look down upon 
All engines tyranny can advance to batter 
Your constant resolution. Hien you shall 
Look truly fair, when your mind's pureness answers 
Your outward beauties. 

Don. I came here to take you, 
But I perceive a yielding in myself 
To be your prisoner. 

Viisl, 'Tis an overthrow, 

That will outshine all victories. O Donnsa, 
Die in my faith, like me ; and 'tis a marriage 
At which celestial angels shall be waiters, 
And such as have been sainted welcome us : 
Are yon confirm'd ? 

Don. I would be ; but the means 
That may assure me ? 

VUel. Heaven is mercifnl, 
And will not suffer yon to want a man 
To do that sacred office, build upon it. 

Don. Then thus I spit at Mahomet. 

Atom, [eominp forward.] Stop her montli : 
In death to turn apostata ! I'll not hear 
One syllable from any. — ^Wretched creature ! 
With the next rising sun prepare to die. — 
Yet, Christian, in reward of thy brave courage, 
Be thy faith right or wrong, receive this fisvour ; 
In person I'll attend thee to thy death : 
And boldly challenge all that I can give. 
But what's not hi my grant, which is — to live. 


SCENE I«— il Room in the Prison. 
BnUr VfTBLU attd FftAitcnco. 

Fran. Yon are wondrous brave and jocund. 

Vitel. Welcome, father. 
Should I spare cost, or not wear cheerful looks 
Upon my wedding day, it were ominous, 
And shew'd 1 did repent it ; which I dare not. 
It bi>ing a marriage, howsoever sad 
In the first ceremonies that confirm it, 
That will for ever arm me against fears. 
Repentance, doubts, or jealousies, and bring 
Perpetual comforts, peace of mind, and quiet 
To the glad couple. 

Fran. I well understand you ; 
And my full joy to see you so resolved 
Weak words cannot express. What is the hour 
Design'd for this solemnity ? 

Vitel. The sixth: 
Something before the setting of the sun. 
We take our last leave of his fading light, 
And with our soul's eyes seek for beams eternal. 
Yet there's one scruple with which I am much 
Per))U*z'd and troubled, which I know yon can 
Rettolve me of. 

Fran. What is't .> 

ViteL This, sir ; my bride, 
Whom I first courted, and then won, not with 
LiHine lays, poor flatteries, apish compliments, 
Hut itnored and religious zeal, yet wants 
riit'. holy badge that should proclaim her fit 
roi- thfse celestial nuptials : willing she is, 

I know, to wear it, as the choicest jewel. 
On Iter fair forehead ; but to you, that well 

( (luld do thnt work of grace, I know the viceroy 
\V ill never grant access. Now, in a case 
i M ijiiii neoeaiiity, I would gladly learn, 
\N ii- >iti I', in me, a layman, without orders, 

I I • i\ not 1)0 nligious and lawful, 

V .^ ■ L o Id our ileaths, to do that office ? 

' I A «|ue«iiion in iti^elfwith much ease an- 
\ii >Mt> II jion necessity, perform it ; [swer'd < 
.Vuil k.itgltta (hut, in the Holy Land, fought for 

The freedom of Jerusalem, when full 

Of sweat and enemies' blood, have made thxai 

The fount, ont of which with their holy hands 
They drew that heavenly liquor ; 'twas approved theD 
By die holy church, nor must I think it now. 
In you, a work less pious. 

vitei. You confirm me : 
I will find a way to do it. In the mean 'time. 
Your holy vows assist me ! 

Fran. They shall ever 
Be present with you. 

Vitel. You shall see me act 
This last scene to the life. 

Fran, And though now fall. 
Rise a bless'd martyr. 

Vitel. That's my end, my alL IBxetmL 

SCENE II.— il Street. 
J?fiter ORDiALDf, Master, Boatswain oimI Sailors. 

Boattw, Sir, if yon slip this opportunity. 
Never expect the like. 

Maet. With as much ease now 
We may steal the ship out of the harbour, captain. 
As ever gallants, in a wanton bravery. 
Have set upon a drunken constable, 
vAiid bore him from a sleepy i«ig-gown'd watch : 
Be therefore wise. 

Grim. I must be honest too. 
And you shall wear that shape, you shall observe 
If that you purpose to continue mine. [me, 

Think you ingratitude can be the parent 
To our unfeign'd repentance ? Do I owe 
A peace within here, kingdoms could not purchase. 
To my religious creditor, to leave him 
Open to danger, the great benefit 
Never remembered ! no ; though in her bottom 
We could stow up the tribute of the Turk ; 
Nay, grant the passage safe too ; I vrill never 
Consent to weigh an anchor up, till he. 
That only must, commands it. 




This religion 
VTili keep ns ilaTce and beggars. 
Mtut. The fiend prompts me 
To diange my copy : plague npon't ! we are sea- 
^liat hare we to do with't, but for a snatch or so, 
At the end of a long Lent ? 

Enter VmAHCuoo, 

BomiMW, Mnra : see who is here. 

Grkm. My father! 

Ft€m, My good convert I am full 
Of serious business which denies me leave 
To hold long conference with you : only thus much 
Briefly receiye ; a day or two, at the most, 
Shall make me fit to take my leave of Tunis, 
Or give me lost for ever. 

Grim, Days nor years, 
Pirovf ded that my stay may do you service, 
Bvt to me shall be minutes. 

Frm^ I much thank you : 
In this small scroll you may in private read 
What my intents are ; and, as they grow ripe, 
I will instruct you further : in the mean time 
Borrow your late distracted looks and gesture ; 
The more dqected you appear, the less 
The viceroy must suspect you. 

Griw^ I am nothing, 
But what you please to have me be. 

Fran. Farewell, sir. 
Be cheerful, master, something we will do. 
That shall reward itself in the performance | 
And that's true prize indeed. 

Most. I am ooedient. 

Boaitw* And I : there's no contending. 

IBxeunt Obim. Mast. Boatsw. and Sailors. 

From, Peace to you all I 
Prosper, thou Great Existence, my endeavours, 
As they religiously are undertaken, 
And distant equally from servile gain. 

Enter Pauuna, Carauc, and Maiito. 

Or glorious ostentation ! — I am heard, 
In this blest opportunity, which in vain 
I long have waited for. I must shew myself. 
O, she has found me I now if she prove right, 
All hope will not forsake us. 

Paul, Further off; 
And in that distance know your duties too. 
You were bestow'd on nt»: as slaves to serve me, 
And not as spies to pry into my actions, 
And after, to betray me. You shall find 
If any look of mine be unobserved, 
I am not ignorant of a mistress' power. 
And from whom I receive it. 

Car. Note this, Manto, 
The pride and scorn with which she entertains us. 
Now we are made her's by the viceroy's gift ! 
Our sweet condition'd princess, fair Donusa, 
Rest in her death wait on her ! never used us 
With such contempt. I would he had sent me 
To the gallies, or the gallows, when he gave me 
To this proud little devil. 

Mani, I expect 
All tyrannous usage, but I must be patient ; 
And though, ten times a-day, she tears these locksy 
Or makes this face her footstool, 'tis but justice. 

PauL Tb a true story of my fortunes, father. 
My chastity preserved by miracle. 
Or your devotions for me ; and. believe it. 

What outward pride soe'er I counterfeit, 

Or state, to these appointed to attend me, 

I am not in my disposition alter'd, 

But still your humble daughter, and share with you 

In my poor brother's sufferings: — all hell's tor- 

Revenge it on accurs'd Grimaldi*s soul, [ments 

That, in his rape of me, gave a beginning 

To all the miseries that since have foUow'd ! 

Fran, Be charitable, and forgive him, gentle 
He's a changed man, and may redeem his fenlt 
In his ftdr life hereafter. You must bear too 
Your forced captivity, for 'tis no better. 
Though you wear golden fetters, and of him. 
Whom death affrights not, learn to hold out nobly 

Paul. You are still the same good counsellor. 

Fran. And who knows, 
(Since what above is purposed, is inscrutable,) 
But that the viceroy's extreme dotage on you 
May be the parent of a happier birth 
Than yet our hopes dare fashion. Longer con- 
May prove unsafe for you and me ; however 
(Perhaps for trial) he allows you freedom. — 

{_Deliver» a paper. 
From this learn therefore what you must attem))t, 
Though with the hazard of yourself: heaven 

guard you, 
And give Vitelli patience ! then I doubt not 
But he will have a glorious day, since some 
Hold truly, — such as suffer, overeome. lExtMnt. 

SCENE III.— if Hall in Asam bbo's Palace, 
Enter Abaubbo, Mustafha, Aga, and Capiaga. 

Atam, What we commanded, see perform'd ; 
In ail things to be punctual. [and fail not 

Aga. We shall, sir. lExeunt Aga, and Capiagu. 

Miuia. 'Tis strange, that you should use such 
To a delinquent of so mean condition. 

Asam. Had he appeared in a more sordid shape 
Than disguised greatness ever deign 'd to mask in, 
The gallant bearing of his present fortune 
Aloud proclaims him noble. 

Mtufa, If you doubt him 
To be a man built up for great employments, 
And, as a cunning spy, sent to explore 
The city's strength, or weakness, you by torture 
May force him to discover it. 

Asam. That were base ; 
Nor dare I do such injury to virtue 
And bold assured courage ; neither can I 
Be won to think, but if I should attempt it, 
I shoot against the moon. He that hath stood 
The roughest battery, that captivity 
Could ever bring to shake a constant temper ; 
Despised the fawnings of a future greatness. 
By beauty, in her full |>erfection, tender'd ; 
That hears of death as of a quiet slumber, 
And from the surplusage of his own firranetSf 
Can spare enough of fortitude, to assure 
A feeble woman ; will not, Mustapha, 
Be alter'd in his soul for any torments 
We can afflict his body with. 

Mueta. Do your pleasure : 
I only offer'd you a friend's advice. 
But without gall or envy to the man 
That is to suffer. But wh:it do you determine 




Of poor Grimaldi ? the disgrace call'd on hiniy 
I bear, has run him mad. 

Asam, There weigh the difference 
In the true temper of their minds. The one, 
A pirate, sold to mischiefs, rapes, and all 
That make a slave relentless and obdurate. 
Yet, of himself wanting the inward strengths 
That should defend him, sinks beneath compassion 
Or pity of a man : whereas this merchant. 
Acquainted only with a civil life ; 
Arm'd in himself, intrench 'd and fortified 
With his own virtue, valuing life and death 
At the same price, poorly does not invite 
A favour, but commands us do him right ; 
Which unto him, and her we both once honoured 
As a just debt, I gladly pay ; — they enter. 
Now sit we equal hearers. 

A drea4Ati music. Enter at one door, tk^ Ag», Janisa- 
ries, Vrrsuj, Framcihoo, and Gaikt ; at the other, 
DuNUSA, {her train borne up), Pauuma, Carazic, and 

Musla, I shall hear 
And see, sir, without passion ; my wrongs arm me. 

Vitel, A joyful preparation ! To whose bounty 
Owe we our thanks for gracing thus our hymen ? 
The notes, though dreadful to the ear, sound here 
As our epithalamium were sung 
By a celestial choir, and a full chorus 
Assured us future happiness. These that lead me 
Gaze not with wanton eyes upon my bride, 
Nor for their service are repaid by m^ 
With jealousies or feara ; nor do they envy 
My passage to those pleasures from which death 
Cannot deter me. Great sir, pardon me : 
Imagination of the joys I hlute to 
Made me forget my duty ; but the form 
And ceremony past, I will attend you, 
And with our constant resolution feast you ; 
Not with coarse cates, forgot as soon as tasted, 
But such as shall, while you have memory, 
Be pleasing to the palate. 

Fran. Be not lost 
In what you purpose. lErit. 

Gam. Call you this a marriage ! 
It differs little from hanging ; I cry at it. 

ViUL See, where my bride appears 1 in what 
full lustre! 
As if the virgins that bear up her train 
Had long contended to receive an honour 
Above their births, in doing her this service. 
Nor comes she fearful to meet those delights, 
Which, once past o'er, immortal pleasures follow. 
I need not, therefore, comfort or encourage 
Her forward steps ; and I bhould offer wrong 
To her mind's fortitude, should I but ask 
How she can brook the rough high-going sea, 
Over whose foamy back our ship, well rigg'd 
With hope and strong assurance, must transport us. 
Nor will I tell her, when we reach the haven. 
Which tempests shall not hinder, what loud wel* 

Shall entertain us ; nor commend the place. 
To tell whose least perfection would strike dumb 
The eloquence of all boasted in story. 
Though join'd together. 

Don. 'Tis enough, my dearest, 
I dare not doubt you ; as your humble shadow, 
Lead where you please, I follow. 

Vitel. One suit, sir, 
And willingly I cease to be a beggar ; 

And that you may with more security hear it. 
Know, 'tis not life I'll ask, nor to defer 
Our deaths, but a few minutes. 

Asam, Speak ; 'tis granted. 

Vitel. We being now to take our latest leave. 
And grown of one belief, I do desire 
I may have your allowance to perform it. 
But in the fashion which we Christians use 
Upon the like occasions. 

Atam. 'Tis allow'd of. 

Vitel. My service : haste, Gazet, to the next' 
And bring me of it. [spring, 

GojK. Would I could as well 
Fetch you a pardon ; I would not run but fly. 
And be here in a moment. [Exit, 

MuMia. What's the mystery 
Of this ? discover it. 

Vitel. Great sir, I'll tell you. 
Each country hath its own peculiar rites : 
Some, when they are to die, drink store of wine. 
Which, pour'd in liberally, does oft beget 
A bastard valour, with which arm'd, they bear 
The not-to-be declined charge of death 
With less fear and astonishment : othera take 
Drugs to procure a heavy sleep, that so 
Tliey may in.<en8ibly receive the means 
That casts them in an everlasting slumber ; 

Re-tnter Gazbt, with water, 

O welcome! 

Asam. Now the: use of youra ? 

Vitel. The clearness of this is a perfect sign 
Of innocence : and as this washes off 
Stains and pollutions from the things we wear 
Thrown thus upon the forehead, it hath power 
To purge those spots that cleave upon the mind« 

iSprinkles it on her/aet. 
If thankfully received. 

Asam. 'Tis a strange custom. 

Vitel. How do you entertain it, my Donusa P 
Feel you no alteration, no new motives. 
No unexpected aids, that may confirm yon 
In that to which you were inclined before ? 

Don. I am another woman ; — till this minute 
I never lived, nor durst think how to die. 
How long have I been blind ! yet on the sudden, 
By this blest means, I feel the films of error 
Ta'eo from my soul's eyes. O divine physician ! 
That hast bestow*d a sight on me, which Death, 
Though ready to embrace me in his arms. 
Cannot take from me : let me kiss the hand 
That did this miracle, and seal my thanks 
Upon those lips from whence these sweet words 

That freed me from the cruellest of prisons, 
Blind ignorance and misbelief. False prophet ! 
Impostor Mahomet I 

Aeam. I'll hear no more, 
You do abuse my favoura ; sever them : 
Wretch, if thou hadst another life to lose, 
This blasphemy deserved it ;— instantly 
Carry them to their deaths. 

Vitel. We part now, blest one, 
To meet hereafter in a kingdom, where 
Hell's malice shall not reach us. 

Paul. Ha ! ha 1 ha ! 

Atam. What means my mistress ? 

Paul. Who can hold her spleen, 
When such ridiculous follies are presented, 

imutK T. 



The scene, too, made religion ! O, my lord, 
How from one cause two conirary effects 
Spring up upon the sudden ! 

AMtm. This ia strange. 

Paul. That which hath fool'd her in her death, 
wins me. 
That hitherto have harr'd myself from pleasure, 
To lire in all delight. 

Asam. Hiere's music in this. 

Pitui, I now will run as fiercely to your arms 
As erer longing woman did, borne high 
On the swift wings of appetite. 

ViUl. O devU ! 

PaW. Nay, more ; for there shall be no odds 
1 will turn Turk. [betwixt us, 

QaM. Most of your tribe do so, 
"Wben they begin in whore. lAride. 

Asam. You are serious, lady ? 

•Paui. Serious !— but satisfy me in a suit 
That to the world may witness that I have 
Some power upon yon, and to-morrow challenge 
Whatever's in my gift ; for I will be 
At your dispose. 

Gojr. Tbat's ever the subscription 
To A damn*d whore's false epistle. lAtide. 

Atam, Ask this hand, 
Or, if thou wilt, the heads of these. I am rapt 
Beyond myself with joy. Speak, speak, what is it ? 

Paul. Hut twelve short hours reprieve for this 
base couple. 

Asam. Tiie reason, since you hate them ? 

Paul That I may 
Have time to triumph o'er this wretched woman. 
ril be myself her guardian ; I will feast, 
Adorned in her choice and richest jewels : 
Commit him to what guards you please. Grant this, 
I ftm no more mine own, but yours. 

Atam. Enjoy it ; 
Repine at it who dares : bear him safe off 
To the black tower, but give him all things useful : 
l*he contrary was not in your request ? 

Paul. I do contemn him. 

Don. Peace in death denied me ! 

Paul. Thou bhalt not go in liberty to thy grave; 
For one night a sultana is my slave. 

Musia. A terrible little tyranuess ! 

A»am. No more ; 
Her will shall be a law. Till now ne'er happy ! 

SCENE IV.— i< Street. 

EmUr FiiAiraaco, /Qrimaldt, Ma»tcr, Boatswain, and 


Grim. Sir, all things are in readiness *, the Turks, 
That seized upon my ship, stow'd under hatches ; 
My men resolved and cheerful. Use but means 
To get out of the ports, we will be ready 
To bring you aboard, and then (heaven be but 
Thi«. for the viceroy's fleet ! [pleased) 

Fran. Discharge your parts ; 
In mine I'll not be wanting : Fear not, master ; 
Something will come along to fraught your bark, 
That jou will have just cause to say you never 
Made such a voyage. 

Matt. We will stand the hazard. 

Fran. WTiat's the best hour? 

Boalsw. After the second watch. 

Fran. Enough : each to his charge. 

Crin. We will be carefuL lExfunt. 

SCENE v.— ^ Room in Asambbo's Palace. 

Enttr Pauuna, Donusa, CARAztK, and MaWto. 

Paul. Sit, madam, it is fit that I attend you ; 
And pardon, I beseech you, my rude language, 
To which the sooner you will be invited, 
Vi hen you shall miderstand, no way was left me 
To free you from a present execution. 
But by my personating that which never 
My nature was acquainted with. 

Don. I believe you. 

PauL Yon will, when you shall understand I 
Receive the honour to be known unto yon 
By a nearer name : — and, not to rack yon further, 
The man you please to favour is my brother ; 
No merchant, madam, but a gentleman 
Of the best rank in Venice. 

Don. I rejoice in't ; 
But what's ^is to his freedom ? for myself, 
Were he well off, I were secure. 

Paul. I have 
A present means, not plotted by myself, 
But a religious man, my confessor, 
That may preserve all, if we had a servant 
Whose faith we might rely on. 

Don. She, that's now 
Your slave, was once mine ; had I twenty livetf 
I durst commit them to her trust 

Manl. O madam ! 
I have been fal«e, — forgive me : I'll redeem it 
By anything, however desperate, 
You please to impose upon me. 

Paul. Troth, these tears, 
I think, cannot be counterfeit ; I believe her. 
And, if you please, will try her 

Don. At your peril ; 
There is no further danger can look towards me. 

Paul. This only then — canst thou use means to 
This bake meat to Vitelli ? 

Mant. With much ease ; 
I am familiar with the guard ; beside, 
It being known it was I that betrayed him, 
My entrance hardly wi71 of them be question'd. 

Paul. About it tj'^a. Say, that 'twas sent to 
From his Donusa : bid him search the midst of it. 
He there shall find a cordial. 

Mant. What I do 
Shall speak my care and faith. IBgiL 

Don. Good fortune with thee ! 

Paul. You cannot eat ? 

Don. The time we thus abuse 
We might employ much better. 

Paul. I am glad 
To hear this from you. As for you, Carazie, 
If our intents do prosper, make choice, whether 
You'll steal away with your two mistresses, 
Or take your fortune. 

Car, I'll be gdded twice first ; 
Hang him that stays behind. 

Paul. 1 wait you, madam. 
Were but my brother off, by the command 
Of the doting viceroy, there's no guard dare stay 

And I will safelv brine; you to the place, 
Where ve iiiu>t expect hnn. 

Don. Heaven be gracious to us I ISs^unt 




ACT ▼. 

SCENE VT.— ^ Boom in the Black Tower. 
EnUr ViTBLU, A«a and Guard, at the door, 

ViUL Paulina to fall off tbas ! 'tis to me 
More terrible than death, and, like an earthquake. 
Totters this walking buiidinj;, such I am ; 
And in my sadden ruin would prevent, 
By choaking up at once my rital spiriU, 
This pompous preparation for my death. 
But 1 am lost ; that good man, good Frandsoo, 
Deliver'd me a paper, which till now 
I wanted leisure to peruse. [BMidi an paper. 

Ago, This Christian 
Fears not. it seems, the near approaching iwiy 
Whose second rise he nerer must salute. 

Jftttor Mawtd milk the ftshwt mmt, 

1 Guard, Who's that ? 

2 Guard, Stand. 
jtga, Manto! 

Mani, Here's the Tieeroy's ring. 
Gives warrant to my entrance ; yet you may 
Partake of anything I shidl deliver. 
'TIS but a present to a dying man. 
Sent from the princess that must suffer with him. 

Aga, Use your own freedom. 

Mani, I would not disturb 
This his last contemplation. 

ViUi. O, 'tis weU ! 
He has restored all, and I at peace again 
With my Paulina. 

Mant, Sir, the sad Donusa, 
Grieved for your sufferings, more than for her 
Knowing the long and tedious pilgrimage [own. 
You are to take, presents you with this cordial. 
Which privately she wishes you should taste of; 
And seuch the middle part, where you shall find 
Something that' hath the operation to 
Make death look lovely. 

VUeL I will not dispute 
What she commands, but serve it. lExU, 

Aga, Prithee, Manto, 
How hath the unfortunate princess spent this 
Under herproud new mistress ? [lught, 

Mani, With such patience 
As it o'eroomes the other's insolence. 
Nay, triumphs o'er her pride. My much haste now 
Commands me hence ; but, the sad tragedy past, 
ril give you satisfaction to the full 
Of idl hath pass'd, and a true character 
Of the )>roud Christian's nature. [Aril. 

Aga Break the watch up ; 
What should we fiear i' the midst of our own 

'Tis but the basha's jealousy. Farewell, soldiers. 



SCENE VII.— ^» upper Boom in the $ame. 

Enter Virvxi with the bahtdmeat. 
Vii. There's something more in this than means 
A hungpry appetite, which I must discover, [to cloy 
She will*d me search the midst: thus, thus I 
pierce it [thread ! 

—Ha I what is this ? a scroll bound up in pack- 
What may the mystery be? IBeade, 

Son, let down this packthread at the waek window of 
the caetlSb By H yoa ehali draw up a ladder of ropes, hj 
which jott may daecnnd : joor dearest Doniua with the 

rest of your frieode below attend yoa. H« 

best of men ! he that gives up himself 
To a true religious friend, leans not upon 
A false deceiving reed, but boldly builds 
Upon a rock ; which now with joy I find 
In reverend Francisco, whose good vows. 
Labours, and watchings, in my hoped-for freedooiy 
Appear a pious miracb. 1 come, 

1 come with confidence ; though the descent 
Were steep as hell, I know 1 cannot slide. 
Being call d down by such a faithful guide. 


SCENE Tin.—. A Boom in Asambko's Palam. 
Stater AftAMBBO, Mdbtavha, att4 Janizaries. 

Aamm, Excuse me, Mustapha, though thia 
night to me 
Appear as tedious as that treble one 
Was to the world, when Jove on fair Alcmena 
Begot Alddes. Were you to encounter [hours 
Those ravishing pleasures, which the slow-paced 
(To me they are such) bar me from, you would. 
With your continued wishes, strive to imp 
New feathen to the broken wings of time, 
And chide the amorous sun, for too long dalliance 
In Thetis' watery bosom. 

Mutta, You are too violent 
In your desires, of which you are yet uncertain ; 
Having*no more assurance to enjoy them. 
Than a weak woman's promise, on which wise men 
Faintly rely. 

Aeam, Tush ! she is made of troth ; 
And what she says she will do, holds as firm 
As laws in brass, that know no change : {A cham' 

ber shot off.] What's this ? 
Some new prize brought in, sore — 

Enter Aga kastUp. 

Why are thy looks 
So ghastly ? Villain, speak ! 

Aga. Great sir, hear me. 
Then after, kill me : — ^we are ail betray'd. 
The false Grimaldi, sunk in your disgrace. 
With his confederates, has seized his ship. 
And those that guarded it stow'd under hatches. 
With him the condemned princess, and the mer. 

That, with a ladder made of ropes, descended 
From the black tower, in which he was enclosed, 
And your fair mistress—^ 

Aeam, Ha ! 

Aga, With all their train. 
And choicest jewels, are gone safe aboard : 
Their sails spread forth, and with a fore-right gale 
Leaving our coast, in scorn of all pursuit. 
As a farewell, they shew'd a broadside to us. 

Aeam. No more. 

Mueta, Now note your confidence ! 

Aeam. No more. 
O my credulity ! I am too fiill 
Of grief and rage to speak. Dull, heavy fool I 
Worthy of all the tortures that the frown 
Of thy incensed master can throw on thee. 
Without one man's compassion I I will bide 
This head among the deserts, or some cave 
Fill'd with my shame and me ; where I alone 
May die without a partner in my moan. 11 




DwAMT, Pkptteum to the Otm i* 

CkABLMTin. King qf Franct. 

Dmu or Oklsaks. 

Dau or Vamoiawm. 

CaAMtan, m Nobleman, omeo Aiardlflii to Bn^ 


Uonrmmm, m nobU OonUoman, to £•§« wiA 

BsLutAirr, a nMi Ladff, 

LAMimA, ITi/Sr to Cmammr'. 

Bbaupkb, («ii|i!pa«Ml GaustaJ ir<^ It Clabin- 

fti—tMoifp, in £0«c teiU Lbonoba. 


Olabivsia, IFi^ to Duuht. 


: I 

OOa'Conrtlfln, Prtat, Offiowik SomBtib 4*' 



SCENE IV. — A Room in BsLLitANT't Haute. 
Enter Chamomt and BauMknv. 
Cham. - 

I did ditcharge the tmtt impoted upon me, 
Bemg Tonr guardian. 

Btii. Tim with truth acknowledged. 

Cham, The loTe I then bore to you, and desire 
To do you all good offices of a friend, 
Continues with me, nay, increases, lady ; 
And, out of this assurance, I presume, 
What, from a true heart, I shall now deliver, 
Will meet a gentle censure. 

Bell. When you speak, 
Whate'er the subject be, 1 gladly hear. 

Cham, To tell you of the greatness of your state, 
And from what noble stock you are derived, 
Were but impertinenoe, and a common theme, 
Since you well know both. What I am to speak of, 
Teaches you nearer ; therefore, give me leave 
To say, that, howsoever your great bounties, 
Continual feasting, princely entertainments, 
May gain you the opinion of some few 
Of a brave generous spirit, (the best harvest 
Tliat you can hope for from such costly seed,) 
You cannot yet, amongst the multitude, 
(Since, next unto the princes of the blood. 
The eyes of all are fix d on you,) but rive 
Some wounds, which will not dose without a tear, 
To your fair reputation, and good name ; 
in snffering such a crew of riotous gallants, 
Not of the best repute, to be so frequent 
Both in your house and presence ; this, 'tis m- 
nour d. 

Little agrees with the cnrioutnets of honoiir, 
Or modesty of a maid. 

BeU, Not to dwell long 
Upon my answer, I must thank your goodness, 
And provident care, that have instructed me 
What my revenues are, by which I measure 
How far 1 may expend ; and yet I find not 
That 1 begin to waste ; nor would I add 
To what 1 now possess. I am myself ; 
And for my fame, since I am innocent here. 
This, for the worid's opinion ! 

Cham, Take heed, madam. 
That [world's j opinion, which you sU^t, confirms 
This lady for immodest, and proclaims 
Another for a modest ; whereas the first 
Ne'er knew what loose thoughts were, and the 
Had never a cold dream. [praised second 

Bell, I dare not argue : 
But what means to prevent this ? 

Cham, Noble marriage. 

Bell, Pardon me, sir ; and do not think I soom 
Your grave advice, which 1 have ever followed, 
Though not pleased in it. 

Would you have me match with wealth ? I need it 
Or hunt for honour, and increase of titles ? [not s 
In truth, I rest ambitioas of no greater 
Than what my &ther left. Or do you judge 
My blood to run so high, that 'tis not in 
Physic to cool me ? I yet feel no such heat : 
But when, against my will, it grows upon me, 
I'll think upon your counsel. 

Cham, If you resolve, then, 
To live a virgin, you have . . . - 
To which you may retire, and ha- • • • 





And live cont - - - - 

Bell. What proof 
Should I give of my continence, if I IiTed 
Not seen, nor seeing any ? Spartan Helen, 
Corinthian Lais, or Rome's Messaline, 
So mew'd up, might have died as they were bom. 
By lust untetnpted : no. it is the glory 
Of chastity to be tempted, tempted home too 
The honour else is nothing ! 1 would be 
The first example to convince, for liars. 
Those poets, that with sharp and bitter rhymes 
Proclaim aloud, that chastity has no being. 
But in a cottage : apd so confident 
I am in this to conquer, that 1 will 
Expose myself to all assaults ; see masques, 
And hear bewitching sonnets ; change discourse 
With one that, for experience, could teach Ovid 
To write, a better vray, his Art qf Love t 
Feed high, and take and give trie entertainment. 
Lend Cupid eyes, and new artillery, 
Deny his mother for a deity ; 
Yet every burning shot he made at me, 
Meeting with my chaste thoughts, should lose 

their ardour ; 
Which when I have o'ercome, malicious men 
Must, to their shame, confess it's ptissible, 
For a young lady, (some say fair,) at court. 
To keep her virgin honour. 

Cham. May you prosper 
In this great undertaking ! 1*11 not uae 
A syllable to divert you : but must be 
A suitor in another kind. 

Bell. Whatever it be, 
'TIS granted. 

Cham. It is only to accept 
A present from me. 

Bell. Call you this a suit ? 

Cham. Come in, Calista. 

EnUr Bbauprb, di$gutifd at a MoorUk 8ta9t. 

This is one 1 would 
Bestow upon you. 

BelL 'Tis the handsomest 
I e'er saw of her country ; she hath neither 
Thick lips, nor rough curl*d hair. 

Cham. Her manners, lady. 
Upon my honour, better her good shape : 
She spedcs our language too, for being surprised 
In Barbary, she was bestow'd upon 
A pirate of Marseilles, with whose wife 
She lived five years, and leam'd it ; there I bought 
As pitying her hard usage ; if you please [her, 
To make her yours, you may. 

Bell. With many thanks. 
Come hither, pretty one ; fear not, you shall find 
A gentle mistress. [me 

Beau. With my care and service, 
I'll study to preserve you such. 

Bell. Well answered. 
Come, follow me ; we'll instantly to court. 
And take my guests along. 

Cham. They wait you, madam. lExetmL 

SCENE v.— ^ State-room in the Palace. 

jnouritk. Enter Charlbs, Orukavs, Nuiouas, Phila- 
MOUB, and Lafort. 
Char. What solitude dues dwell about our court I 
Why this dull entertainment ? Have 1 inarch'd 

Victorious through Italy, enter'd Rome, 
Like a triumphant conqueror, set my foot 
Upon the neck of Florence, tamed the pride 
Of the Venetians, scourged those petty tyrants, 
That . . • . . den of the woi Id, to be 

- . - - home, nay, my house neglected ! 
(New Speaker.) ... the courtiers would 

...... therefore they presumed 

fNetp Speaker.) .... the ladies, sir, 

- ..... that glad time 
...-.----the choice. 

£nf«r Brllisakt, Lronoka, LAMiRA.CLARtNOA.CHAwoirr, 
MONTROAK. Clkrrmoxd, Clarixdork, I'krioot, NOVAIX, 
and other Courtiers. 

Phil. Here they come. 

Ladiee. All happiness to your majesty ! 

Courtiers. And victory sit ever on your sword I 

Char. Our thanks to all. 
But wherefore come you in divided troops. 
As if the mistresses would not accept 
Their servants' guardship, or the servants, slighted, 
Refuse to offer it } You all wear sad looks : 
On Perigot appears not that blunt mirth 
Which his face used to promise ; on Montrose 
There hangs a heavy dulness ; Cleremond 
Droops e'en to death, and Clarindore hath lost 
Much of his sharpness ; nay, these ladies too, 
Whose sparkling eyes did use to fire the court 
With various inventions of delight. 
Part with their splendour. What's the cause? 

from whence 
Proceeds this alteration ? 

Peri, I am troubled 
With the toothach, or with love, I know not 

whether ; 
There is a worm in both. lAsid*. 

Clarin, It is their pride. 

Bell. Or your unworthiness. 

Cler. The honour that 
The French dames held for courtesy, above 
All ladies of the earth, dwells not in the^e. 
That glory in their cruelty. 

Leon. The desert 
The chevaliers of France were truly lords of. 
And which your grandsires really did possess. 
At no part you inherit. 

Bell. Ere they durst 
Presume to offer service to a lady. 
In person they perfurm'd some gallant acts 
The fame of which prepared them gracious hearing. 
Ere they made their approaches: what coy she. 
Though great in birth, not to be parallefd [then. 
For nature's liberal bounties, both set off 
With fortune's trappings, wealth ; but, with delight, 
Gladly acknowledged such a man her servant, 
To whose heroic courage, and deep wisdom. 
The flourishing commonwealth, and thankful king, 
Confess'd themselves for debtors ? Whereas, now. 
If you have travelled Italy, and brought home 
Some remnants of the language, and can set 
Your faces in some strange and ne'er-seen posture, 
Dance a lavolta, and be rude and saucy ; 
Protest, and swear, and damn, (for these are acts 
That most think grace them,) and then view your- 
In the deceiving mirror of self-love, [selves 

You do conclude there hardly ia a woman 
That can be worthy of vou. 

Mont. Wc would grant 
We are not equal to our ancestors 
In noble undertakings, if we thought, 
In us a free confession would persuade you, 
Not to deny your own most wilful errors : 
And where yon tax us for unservice, lady, 
I never knew a soldier yet, that could 
Arrive into your favour : we may suffer 
The winter's frost, and scorching summer's heat. 
When the hot lion's breath singeth the fields, 
To seek out victory ; yet, at our return. 
Though bonour'd in our manly wounds, well taken. 
You say they do deform us, and the loss 
Of much blood that way, renders us unfit 
To please you in your chambers. 

Ciariju I must speak 
A little in the general cause : Your beauties 
Are charms that do enchant so ----- - 

Knowing that we are fastened in your toils ; 
In which to struggle, or strive to break out. 
Increases the captivity. Never Circe, 
Sated with such she purposed to transform, 
Or cunning Siren, for whose fatal music 
Nought but the hearer's death could ssitisfy, 
Knew less of pity. Nay, I dare go further. 
And justify your majesty hath lost 
More resolute and brave courageous spirits 
In this same dull and languishing fight of love. 
Than e'er your wars took fi-om you. 

Char. No reply : 

This is a cause we will determine of, 
And speedily redress : Tamed Italy, 
W^ith fear, confesses me a warlike king. 
And France shall boast I am a prince of love. 
Shall we, that keep perpetual parliaments 
For petty suits, or the least injury 
Offer'd the goods or bodies of our subjects. 
Not study a cure for the sickness of the mind. 
Whose venomous contagion hath infected 
Our bravest servants, and the choicest beauties 
Our court is proud of ? These are woumU require 
A kingly surgeon, and the honour worthy 
By us to be accepted. 

Phil. It would add 
To the rest of your great actions. 

Laf. But the means 
Most difficult, I fear. 

Cham, You shall do more, sir, 
If yon perform this, than I e*er could read 
The sons of Saturn, that by lot divided 
The government of the air, the sea, and hell* 
Had spirit to undertake. 

Char, Why, this more fires me ; 
And now partake of my design. With speed 
Erect a place of justice near the court, [Lovx t 
Which we'll have styled, the Parliamknt of 
Here such whose humble service is not consider'd 
By their proud mbtresses, freely may complain ; 
And shall have hearing and redress. 

Nov. O rare ! 

Peri, I like this well. 

Char, And ladies that are wrong'd 
By such as do profess themselves their servants, 
May cite them hither, and their cause deliver'd 
Or by their own tongues, or fee'd advocates. 
Find sudden 8atisfactl6n. 

Nov. What a rascal 
Was I to leave the law ! I might have had 
Clients and clients. Ne'er was such a time 
For any smooth-chinn'd advocate. 

Peri. They will get the start 
Of the ladies' spruce physicians, starve their chap. 
Though never so well timbered. [laiiis. 

Char. *Tis our will. 
Nor shall it be disputed. Of this court, 
Or rather sanctuary of pure lovers, 
My lord of Orleans, and Nemours, assisted 
By the messieurs Philamour and Lafort,are judges. 
You have worn Venus's colours from your youth, 
And cannot, therefore, but be sensible 
Of all her mysteries : what you shall detennine« 
In the way of penance, punishment, or reward, 
Shall - - > the trial ; a month we grant you 
.-•---- amours, which expired, 
.... make your complaints, and be assured 
- - - impartial hearing ; this determined, 
...... rest of our affairs. iSxeunt. 



SCENE I. — A Room in Clarindore's House. 
Enter CLARiNroRB, Montrosk, Pkrioot, and Novall. 

Peri. 1 do not relish 
The last part of the king's speech, though I was 
Much taken with the first. 

Nov. Your reason, tutor ? 

Peri. Why, look you, pupil ; the decree, that 
Should not neglect the service of their lovers. 
But pay them from the exchequer they were bom 

Was good and laudable ; they being created 
To be both tractable and tactable. 
When they are useful : but to have it order'd. 
All women that have stumbled in the dark, 
Or given, by owl-light, favours, should complain, 
Is most intolerable : I myself hhall have, 
Of such as trade in the streets, and scaped my 

Of progress laundresses, and marketwomen, 
When the king's pleasure's known, a thousand bills 
Prtferr'd against me. 

Clarin. Tliis is out of season : 
Nothing to madam Bellisant, that, in public, 
Hath so inveigh*d against us. 

Nov. She's a Fury, 
I dare no more attempt her. 

Peri. I'll not venture 
To change six words with her for half her state. 
Or stay, till she be trimm'd, from wine and 
For any new monopoly. fwomen. 

Mont. I will study 
How to forget her, shun the tempting poison. 
Her looks, and magic of discourse, still offer. 
And be myself again ; since there's no hope, 
'Twere madness to pursue her. 

Peri. There are madams 
Better brought up, 'tis thought, and wifet that 
dare not 


CamjiUlii in purlUmcDt ; therc'a ufc irading. 

pupil ; 
Add, »hfn the fiods ihe li ofaU forsiikeii. 
Let aiy ladjr Pride repent in Tsin, and momp. 
And enrj others' merktlB. 

Clarin. Maj I ne'er prmpcr 
But you are Ihree of Ihe moat feinting njiiriti, 
Tliat ever I convened with ! Yon do well 
To talk of progreai lanadreuea, punka, and 

The wife of aome rich Iradeaman with thiee teeth, 
And twice so many hairi: — trai'k wiih oJd ladies. 
That nature hatli given o'er, that one their doctors 
For an artificial life, that art ao Froien, 
That a lonnd plague cannot thaw them i but 
1 give you oier : nefer hope to take [despair, 

A veivet petticoat up. or to commit 
With an Italian cutwork smock, when toro too. 

Claria. Troth, mine are modest. 
I am only confident to win Ihe lady 
You dare not look on, and now. in Ihe height 
Of her contempt and scorn, to humble her. 
And leach her at what game ber mother play'd. 
When she was got; and, ctoy'd vilb those poor 
As I find her obedient and pteuing, C'"]'*! 

I may perhaps deaceud to merry her : 
Theu, with a kind of atitfi. I Uke my chair. 
Command 1 eudden mutter of my servanla, 
And, after two or three majeatic hums, 
It being kiiDwa all ia mine, peruie my wrilinga, 
Let out thia manor, at an easy rats. 
To SHch a friend, lend thii ten thoujund crawos, 
Fur the redemption of his mortgaged land. 
Give to each by-blow I know mine, a farm, 
Erect --,.... this in conae- - - 

That pleased me in my yonth, hut now grown vtile. 
These things finl ordered by me, and confirm'J 
By Belliaant, my Kife, 1 care not much 
If, out of her own lands, 1 do asaign her 
Some pretty jointure. 

Peri. Talk'at thou in thy aleep ! 

IVen. Or art Ihon n»d ! 

Clarin. A little elevated 
With the aasurance of my future fortune ; 

, three thousand ( 
A month I will elTect this. 

Moat. Howi 

Claria. Give proof 
1 hare enjoyed feir Bellisaiit. evident proof 
I have pluck'd her virgin rose, so long presei 
Not, like a play-trick, with a chain or ring 
Stolen by comtption. but, agunst her will, 
Make her confess so much. 

Hani. Impossible. 

Clar n. Then the disgrace be mine, the profit 
If that you think her chaatity a rock [youni. 

Not to be moved or shaken, or hold me 
A flatterer of myself, or overweener, 
Let me pay for di; foolery. 

Peri. 1 11 engage 
Myself for a tbouaand. 

Nob. I 'U not oat for a second. 

Afoul. I would gladly lose a third part 
No virgin ean stand constant long. Jiasurai 

Clarin. Leave that 
To the trial x lei ui to a notary. 
Draw the conditions, see the crowns deposited, 

And (hen t will not cry. SL Dei 
But— Love, blind archer, aid me 

Ptri. Look you (hrive ; 
I would not be so jeer'd and hoo 
A> you will be else. 

Clarin. 1 will run the hazard. 

SCENE U.—A Rom, in LiovoRt'a 

,^erD. He will not be denied, 

Leon. Stave, beat him back. 
I feed such «rhel]i8 ! 

Scni. Madam. 1 rattled him, 
Kaliled him home. 

Leon. Rattle him hence, you rascal. 
Or never see me more. 

EWr CtaaaiiOKi.. 

Serr. He comes : a a 
It would you have m 

Shall I cry murder, . 
Or raise the constable ? 
Leon. Hence, you shaking coward I 
Serv. 1 am glad 1 am so got off ; here's a round 

For a few hitler words ! Be not shook off, sir ; 
I'll see none shall distnrb yon. {EtU. 

Cler. You might spare 
These frowns, good Isdy. on me ; they are useless : 
1 am shot through and through with your disdain, 
And on my heart the darts of scorn so thick. 
That there's no vacant place left to receive 
Another wound -, their multitude is grown 
My best defence - - - 

Made up of impudence, a 
Did anv drop of noble bk 
In Ihy iostrul veins, had&I 
Ofmodeaty, civility, or n 
Or but in thy deformed oi 
Thou didst retun the eaat 

Thy baseneaa liTit made me acijas 

Cfcr. Ncn. 



it their drugs and oils, 

Leon. I have beard 
Of mountebanke, that to 
Have so ennred themaeb 
They could digest a venorn'd toad, or spider. 
Better than wholesome viauda : in the list 
Of snch I hold thee ; for that bitterness 
Of speech, reproof, and scorn, by her deliten 
U'hom thou professest to adore, and shake at, 
Which would deter all mankind but Ibyself, 
Do nourish in thee saucy hopes, with pleasnr 

Cler. Hear but my just defence. 

Leon. Yet, since thou art 
So spaniel-like affected, and thy dotage 
Increases from abuse and injury. 
That way I'll once more feast thn:. Of all n 
I ever saw yet, in my settled judgment. 
Spite of thy barber, tailor, and perfumer, 
And thine sdullerale and borrow'd helps. 
Thou art the ugliest creature ; and when trimm'd 

To the height, I 





A leper with a clap-dish, (to giTe notice 
He is infectious,) in respect of thee, 
Appears a young Adonis. 

tier. You look on me 
In a fiilae glaaSt madam. 

Leon, llien thy dunghill mind. 
Suitable to the outside, never yet 
Produced one gentle thought, knowing her want 
Of faculties to put it into act. 
Thy oonrtship, as absurd as any zany's, 
ktier a practised manner ; thy discourse, 
Though fiill of bombast phrase, never brought 

Worthy the laughing at, much less the hearing^-— 
But I grow weary ; for, indeed, to speak thee. 
Thy lib I mean, and speak them to the full. 
Would tire a thousand women's voluble tongues, 
And twice so many lawyers' — for a farewell, 
ril sooner clasp an incubus, or hug 
A fork'd-tongued adder, than meet thy embraces, 
Which, as the devil, I fly from. 

Cier, Now you have spent 
The utmost of your spleen, I would not say 
Your malice, set off to the height with fiction, 
Allow me leave, (a poor request, which judges 
Seldom deny unto a man condemn'd,) 
A little to complain : for, being censured. 
Or to extenuate, or excuse my guilt. 
Were but to wash an Ethiop. How oft, with tears. 
When the inhuman porter has forbid 
My entrance by your most severe commands. 
Have these eyes waah'd your threshold ! Did there 
Come novelty to Paris, rich or rare, [ever 

Which but as soon as known was not presented, 
Howe'er with frowns refused ? Have I not brought 
The braveries of France before your window. 
To fight at barriers, or to break a lance. 
Or, in their full career, to take the ring. 
To do you honour ? and then, being refused 
To speak my grief, my arms, my impresses, 
The colours that I wore, in a dumb sorrow 
Express'd how much I suffered in the rigour 
Of your displeasure. 

t»eon» Two months hence I'll have 

Cler, Stay, best madam, 
I am growing to a period. 

Leon, Pray you do ; 
I here shall take a nap else, 'tis so pleasing. 

Cler, Then only this : the voice you now con- 
Yon once did swear was musical ; you have met too 
These tips in a soft encounter, and have brought 
An equal ardour with you : never lived 
A happier pair of lovers. I confess. 
After you promised marriage, nothing wanting 
But a few days expired, to make me happy. 
My violent impatience of delay 
Made me presume, and with some amorous force, 
To ask a full fruition of those pleasures 
Which sacred Hymen to the world makes lawful, 
Before his torch was lighted ; in this only, 
You justly can accuse me. 

Leon, Dar'st thou think 
That this offence can ever find a pardon, 
Unworthy as thou art I 

Cler, But you most cruel. 
That, in your studied purpose of revenge, 
Cast both divine and human laws behind you, 
KtA only see their rigour, not their roercyt 

Offences of foul shape, by holy writ 

Are warranted remission, provided 

That the delinquent undergo the penance 

Imposed upon him by his confessor : 

But you, that should be mine, and only can 

Or punish or absolve me, are so far 

From doing me right, that you disdain to hear me. 

Leon, Now I may catch him in mj long-wish'd 
My hate help me to work it ! [Ande,"] — To what 

Poor and pale spirited man, should I expect 
From thee the satisfriction of a wrong. 
Compared to which, the murder of a brother 
Were but a gentle injury ? 

Cler» Witness, heaven. 
All blessings hoped by good men, and all tortures 
The wicked shake at, no saint left unsworn by. 
That, unoompell'd, I here give up myself 
Wholly to your devotion : if I fail 
To do whatever you please to command, 
To expiate my trespass to your honour. 
So that, the task perform'd, you likewise swear. 
First to forgive, and after marry me. 
May I endure more sharp and Ungering torments 
Than ever tyrants found out ! may my friends 
With scorn, not pity, look upon my sufferings, 
And at my last gasp, in the place of hope, 
Sorrow, despair, possess me ! 

Leon. You are caught. 
Most miserable fool, but fit to be so ;— 
And 'tis but justice that thou art delivered 
Into her power that's sensible of a wrong. 
And glories to revenge it Let me study 
What dreadful punishment, worthy my fury, 
I shall inflict upon thee ; all the malice 
Of injured women help me ! Death ? that's notiiing, 
'Tis, to a conscious wretch, a benefit, 
And not a penance ; else, on the next tree, 
For sport's sake I would make thee hang thyself. 

Cler, What have I done ? 

Leon, What cannot be recall'd. 
To row for seven years in the Turxlsh gallies ? 
K flea-biting ! To be sold to a brothel. 
Or a common bagnio ? that's a trifle too ! 
- - - - Furies, ------ 

The lashes of their whips pierce through the mind. 
I'll imitate them : — I have it too. 

Cler, Remember 
You are a woman. 

Leon, I have heard thee boast, 
That of all blessings in the earth next me, 
The number of thy trusty, faithful friends. 
Made up thy happiness : out of these, I chaige 

And by thine own repeated oaths conjure thee. 
To kill the best deserver. Do not start ; 
I'll have no other penance. Then to practise. 
To find some means he that deserves thee best. 
By undertaking something others fly from : 
This done, I am thine. 

Cler, But hear me. 

Leon, Not a syllable : 
And till then, never see me. iEgU, 

Cler, I am lost. 
Foolishly lost and sunk by mine own baseness : 
I'll say only. 

With a heart-breaking patience, yet not rave, 
Better the devil's than a woman's slave. [£rft. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE IIL— ^ Room in Bkllisant's House. 
Enttr Claiunxx>rb and Bbaupkb*. 

Clarin, Naj, prithee, good CalUta-^ 

Beau, As 1 live, sir, 
She is determined to be private, and charged me, 
Till of herself she broke up her retirement. 
Not to admit a visitant. 

Clarin, Thau art a fool. 
And I most have thee learn to know thy strength ; 
There never was a sure path to the mistress, 
But by her minister's help, which I will pay for : 

lOivrs h.r his Purse. 
But yet this is but trash ; hark in thine ear — 
By Love ! I like thy person, and will make 
Full payment that way ; be thou wise« 

Beaii, Like me, sir ! 
One of my dark complexion ! 

Clarin, 1 am serious : 
The curtains drawn, and envious light shut out. 
The soft touch heightens appetite, and takes more 
Than colour, Venus' dressing, in the day-time, 
But never thought on in her midnight revels. 
Come, 1 must have thee mine. 

Beau. But how to serve you ? 

Clarin. By speaking still my praises to thy lady, 
How much 1 love and languish for her bounties : 
You may remember too, how many madams 
Are rivals for me, and, in way of caution. 
Say you have heard, when I was wild, how dreadful 
My name was to a profess'd courtezan. 
Still asking more than she could give — 

Enter BMLuaJLKT, 

Beau. My lady ! 

Bell, Be within call : 

lAside to the Servants within* 
How now, Clarindore, 
Courting my servant ! Nay, 'tis not my envy^ 
Yon now express yourself a complete lover, 
That, for variety's sake, if she be woman. 
Can change discourse with any. 

Clarin, All are foils 
I practise on, but when you make me happy 
In doing roe that honour : I desired 
To hear her upeak in the Morisco tongue ; 
Troth, 'tin a pretty language. 

Bell, Yes, to (Innce to : — 
I^ok to those sweetmeats. iBxU BcAupaa*. 

Clarin, llow ! by heaven, she aims 
To speak with me in private ! ' lAside. 

Hell. Come, sit down ; 
l^et's have some merry conference. 

Clarin, In which .... 


That my whole life employ'd to do yon service. 
At no part can deserve. 

Bell. If you esteem it 
At M\w\\ a rate, do not abuse my bounty, 
i h (Muunttiiit on the granted privacy, further 
Thau what i\w text may warrant ; so you shall 
iWiMtroy what 1 have built. 

Vhrin, I like not this. lAside. 

Itf II This ntiw<erected Parliament of Love, 
\\ KMtius, li«N (Vightrd hence my visitants ! 
\Wyn %\wm\ Montrose and Peridot their hours ? 
Ns»v4U and ('lun^mund vnnish'd in a moment ; 
\ \\V^ your iH»nNtaui7 vet. 

i*^r4H Thai's goml again ; 

She hath restored all : [Aepie.j — Pity them, good 

madam ; 
The splendour of your house and entertainment, 
Enrich'd with all perfections by yourself, 
Is too, too glorious for their dim eyes : 
You are above their element ; modest fools. 
That only dare admire ! and bar them from 
Comparing of these eyes to the fairest flowers. 
Giving you Juno's majesty, Pallas' wit, 
Diana's hand, and Thetis' pretty foot ; 
Or, when you dance, to swear that Venus leads 
The Loves and Graces from the Idalian green, 
And such hyperboles stolen out of playbooks, 
They would stand all day mute, and, ax you were 
Some curious picture only to be look'd on. 
Presume no farther. 

Bell, Pray you, keep your distance, 
And grow not rude. 

Clarin. Rude, lady ! manly boldness 
Cannot deserve that name ; I have studied you, 
And love hath made an easy gloss upon 
The most abstruse and hidden mysteries 
Which you may keep conceal'd. You well may 

A bashfnl suitor, that is ravish' d with 
A feather of your fiin, or if he gain 
A riband from your shoe, cries out, NU ultra ! 

Bell, And what would satisfy you ? 

Clarin. Not such poor trifles, 
I can assure you, lady. Do not I see 
You are gamesome, young, and active .' that yon 
A man that, of himself, comes boldly on, [k)\c 
That will not put your modesty to trouble. 
To teach him how to feed, when meat's before him ? 
That knows that you are flesh and blood, a creature, 
And bom with such affections, that, like me, 
Now I have opportunity, and your favour. 
Will not abuse my fortune ? Should I stand now 
Licking my fingers, cry Ah me ! then kneel, 
And swear you were a goddess, kiss the skirts 
Of your proud garments, when 1 were gone, I am 

I should be kindly laugh'd at for a coxcomb ; 
The story made the subject of your mirth, 
At your next meeting, when you sit in council. 
Among the beauties. 

Bell. Is this possible ? 
All due respect forgotten ! 

Clarin, Hang respect ! 
Are we not alone } See, I dare touch this hand, 
And without adoration unglove it. 
A spring of youth is in this palm ; here Cupid, 
The moisture turn'd to diamonds, heads his arrows : 
The far-famed English Bath, or German Spn, 
One drop of this will purchase. Shall this nectar 
Run useless, then, to waste ? or • - - these lips, 
That open like the mom, breathing perfumes 
On such as dare approach them, be untoucli'd ? 
They must — nay, 'tis in vain to make resistance, — 
Be often Mss'd and tasted : — You seem angry 
At - - - 1 have displeased you. 

Bell, [to the Servants within.'] - 

And come prepared, as if some Africk monster. 
By force had broke into my house. 

Enter Servants with dravtn Swords* 

Clarin, How's this ? 

Bell. Circle him round with death, and if he 
Or but presume to speak, till I allow it, [stir. 

His body be the navel to the wheel. 




In which your rapiers, like so many spokes, 
Shall meet and fix themselves. 

Ciarin. Were 1 off with life, 
This for my wager ! lAiMe. 

BeU. Villain, shake and tremble 
At my jast anger ! Which of all my actions, 
Confined in Tirtnous limits, hath given life 
And birth to this presumption ? Hast thoa ever 
Obserred in me a wanton look or gesture. 
Not suiting with a virgin ? Have I been 
Prodigal in my favours, or given hopes. 
To nourish such attempts ? swear, and swear truly. 
What in thy soul thou think'st of me. 

Ciarin, As of one 
Made np of chastity ; and only tried. 
Which I repent, what this might work upon you. 

BeU, The intent deserves not death ; but, sirrah, 
Tis in my power to look thee dead. [know 

Ciarin. 'Tis granted. 

B9U. 1 am not so cruel ; yet, for this insolence. 


Forbear my house for ever : if yon are hot, 
Yon, ruffian-like, may force a parting kiss. 
As from a common gamester. 

Ciarin. I am cool : — 
She's a virago. lAstde, 

Bell. Or yon may go boast. 
How bravely you came on, to yonr companions ; 
I will not bribe your silence : no reply. — 
Now thrust him headlong out of doors, and see 
He never more pass my threshold. iSxU 

Ciarin. This comes of 
My daring : all hell's plagues light on the proverb 
That says, Faint heart — but it is stale. 

Serv. Pray you walk, sir, 
We must shew you the way else. 

Ciarin. Be not too officious. 
I am no bar for you to try your strength on.— 
Sit quietly by this disgrace 1 cannot: 
Some other course I must be forced to take. 
Not for my wager now, but honour's sake. 


SCENE I. — A Room in Chamont's House. 

RnUr Cbamont, Psusot, Novaix, Dmaitt, Lamika, and 


Peri. 'Twas prince-like entertainment. 

Cham. You o'erprixe it 

Din. Your cheerful looks made every dish a 
And 'tis that crowns a welcome. [feast. 

Lam. For my part, 
1 bold society and honest mirth 
The greatest blessing of a civil life. 

Cla, Without good company, indeed, all dainties 
Lose their true relish, and, like painted grapes. 
Are only seen, not tasted. 

Nov, By this light. 
She speaks well too ! Til have a fling at her : 
She is no fit electuary for a doctor : 
A coarser julap may well cool his worship ; 
ThiM cordial is for gallants. lAsifU. 

Cham. Let me see. 
The night grows old : pray yon often be my guests. 
Snch as dare come unto a - - - table, 
Although not crack'd with curious delicates. 
Have liberty to command it as their own : 
I may do the like with you, when yuu are married. 

Peri. Yes, 'tis likely. 
When there's no forage to be had abroad, 
Nor credulous husbands left to father children 
Of oacbelors' begetting ; when court wives 
Are won to grant variety is not pleasing. 
And that a friend at a pinch is useless to them, 
I but till then 

Cham. Yon have a merry time oft ; 

But we forget ourselves : — Gallants, good night. 
Good master doctor, when your leisure serves. 
Visit my house ; when we least need their art, 
Phyi*iciHiis look most lovely. 
• Din. All that's in me, 

Is at your lordship's service. Monsieur Perigot, 
Monsieur No vail, in what I may be useful, 
Pray you command me. 

Nov. We'll wait on you home. 

Dm* By no means, sir : good night. 

{SsemU aU bul Hot all and PaaMor. 

Nov. The knave is jealous. 

Peri. 'Tis a diitease few doctors cure themtelvei 

Nov. I would he were my patient ! [o^ 

Peri. Do but practise 
To get his wife's consent, the way is easy. 

Nov. You may conclude so ; for myself, I gram 
I never was so taken with a woman. 
Nor ever had less hope. 

Peri. Be not dejected ; 
Follow but my directions, she's your own ; 
I'll set thee in a course that shall not fail.— 
I like thy choice ; but more of that hereafter : 
Adultery is a safe and secret sin ; 
The purchase of a maidenhead seldom quits 
The danger and the labour : build on this, 
He that puts home shall find all women coming, 
The frozen Bcllisant ever excepted. 
Could you believe the fair wife of Chamont, 
A lady never tainted in her honour. 
Should, at the first assault, (for till this night 
I never courted her,) yield up the fort 
I'hat she hath kept so long ? 

Nov. 'Tis wondrous strange. 
What winning language used you ? 

Peri, Thou art a ^ild ; 
*Ti8 action, not fine speeches, take a woman. 
Pleasure's their heaven ; and he that gives at* 

That he hath strength to tame their hot detirea, 
Is the prevailing orator : she but saw me 
Jump over six join'd stools, and after cut 
Some forty capers ; tncks that never miss. 
In a magnificent masque, to draw the eyes 
Of all the beauties in the court upon me. 
But straight she wrung my hand, trod on my toe^ 
And said my mistress could not but be happy 
In such an able servant. I replied 
Bluntly, I was ambitious to be hers ; 
And she, nor coy nor shy, straight entertain*d sm 1 
I begg'd a private meeting, it was granted^ 
The time and place appointed. 

Nov, But remember 
Chamont is your friend* 

Fori. Now out upon thee, 



ACT ni« 

As if a mmn lo far e*er loved that title. 

But 'twas much more delight and tickling to him, 

To hog himself, and saj. This is my cuckold I 

Nov, But did he not obsenre thee ? 

Peri, Though he did. 
As I am doubtful, I will not desist ; 
The danger will endear the sport. 

BiUtr QLAKomm^ 

Nov, Forbear; 
Here's Clarindore. 

Ptri. We will be merry with him ; 
I have heard his entertainment. Join bat with me, 
And we will jeer this self-opinion'd fool 
Almost to madness. 

Noo. He's already grown 
Exceeding melancholj, and some say 
That's the first step to frenxy. 

Peri, ril upon him. — 
Save you, good montiear I no reply? grown proud 
Of yonr success ? it is not well .... 

Clar, 'Tis come out ; these goslings 
Have heard of my -.--... 

Nov, We gratulate, 
Though we pay for't, yonr happy entrance to 
The certain favours, nay, the sure possession, 
Of madam Bellirant 

CUurin, The young whdp too ! — 
'Tis well, exceeding well. 

Peri, 'Tis so, with you, sir ; 
But bear it modestly, faith it will become you : 
And being arriTcd at such a lordly revenue. 
As this your happy match instates you with. 
Two thousand crowns from me, and from Novali 
Though we almost confins the wager lost, 
Wm be a small addition. 

Nov, You mistake him ; 
Nor do 1 fear, out of his noble nature, 
But that he may be won to license us 
To draw our venture. 

Clarin, Spend your frothy wits. 
Do, do ; you snarl, but hurt not. 

Nov, O, give leave 
To losers fbr to speak. 

Peri, 'Tis a strange fate 
Some men are bom to, and a happy star 
That reign'd at your nativity ! it could not be else, 
A lady of a constancy like a rock, 
Not to be moved, and held impregnable. 
Should yield at the first assault 1 

Nov. 'Tis the reward 
Of a brave daring spirit. 

Peri, Tush ! we are dull ; 
Abuse our opportunities. 

Clarin, Have you done yet ? 

Peri, When he had privacy of discourse, he knew 
How to use that advantage ; did he stand 
Pawning, and crouching ? no; he ran up boldly, 
Told her what she was bom to, ruffled her, 
Kias'd her, and toused her :— all the passages 
Are at court already ; and, 'tis said, a patent 
Is granted him, if any maid be chaste. 
For him to humble hor, and a new name given him, 
The scornful-virgin tamer. 

Clarin, I may tame 
Your buffoon tongues, if you proceed. 

Nov, No anger. 
I have heard that Bellisant was so taken with 
Your manly courage, that she straight prepared yon 
A sumptuous ban^L 

Peri, Yet his enemies 
Report it was a blanket. 

Nov, Malice, malice \ 
She was shewing him her chamber too, and call'd 
Perfumes, and cambric sheets. [for 

Peri, When, see the lack on't ! 
Against her will, her most unmannerly grooms, 
For so 'tis rumour'd, took him by the sbouldera, 
And thrust him out of doors. 

Nov, Faith, sir, resolve us ; 
How was it ? we would gladly know the trath, 
To stop the mouth of calumny. 

Clarin, Troth, sir, I'll tell you : 
One tc^ok me by the nose thus. — and a second 
Made bold with me thus — ^but one word more, yoa 

Feel new expressions — and so, my gentle boobies. 
Farewell, and be hang'd '. lExiL 

Nov, We have nettled him. 

Peri, Had we stung him to death, it were out 
An overweening bmggard i [justice, 

Nov, This is nothing 
To the doctor's wife. 

Peri. Come, we'll consult of it. 
And suddenly. 

Nov, I feel a woman's longing 
Till I am at it. 

PerL Never fear ; she's thine own, boy. iSxeunL 

SCENE 11.—^ Street, 
BnUr Clsrbmoitd. 

der. What have my sins been, heaven ? yet thy 

great pleasure 
Must not be argued. Was wretch ever bound 
On such a black adventure, in which only 
To wish to prosper is a greater curse 
Than to---....-- me 
Of reason, understanding, and true judgment. 
"Twere a degree of comfort to myself 
1 were stark mad ; or, like a beast of prey, 
Prick'd on by griping hunger, all my thoughts 
And faculties were wholly taken up 
To cloy my appetite, and could look no furtlicr : 
But I rise up a new example of 
Calamity, transcending all before me ; 
And I should gild my misery with false comforts, 
If I compared it with an Indian slave's, 
That, with incessant labour to search out 
Some unknown mine, dives almost to the centre ; 
And, if then found, not thank 'd of his proud mas 
But this, if put into an equal scale [ter. 

With my unparallel'd fortune, will weigh nothing ; 
For lh>m a cabinet of the choicest jewels 
That mankind e'er was rich in, whose least gem 
All treasure of the earth, or what is hid 
In Neptune's watery bosom, cannot purchase, 
I must seek out the richest, fairest, purest. 
And when by proof 'tis known it holds the value. 
As soon as found destroy it O most cruel ! 
And yet, when 1 consider of the many 
That have profesa'd themselves my friends, and 

Their lives were not their own, when my engage 

Should summon them to be at my devotion* 
Not one endures the test ; 1 almost grow 
Of the world's received opinion, that holds 
Friendship but a mere name, that binds no further 

Tlian to the altar — to retire with safety. 
Here comes Montrose. 

Enter Moirmosi and BsAcma. 

What sudden joy transports him ? 
I nerer saw man rapt so. 

Man. Parse and all, 
And 'tis too little, thoogh it were cramm'd full 
With crowns of the sun. O blessed, blessed paper ! 
But made so by the touch of her fair band. 
What shall I answer ? Say I am ber creature, 
Or, if thou canst find out a word that may 
Express subjection in an humbler style, 
Use it, I prithee } add too, ber commands 
Shall be with as much willingness performed, 
As I in this fold, this, receive her favours. 

Beau. I shall return so much. 

MofU, And that two hours 
Shall bring me to attend her. 

Beau, With all care 
And circumstance of service from yourself, 
I will deliver it. 

Mont. I am still your debtor. [Exit Bbauprk. 

Cler. 1 read the cause now clearly ; I'll slip by : 
For though, even at this instant, he should prove 
Himself, which others' falsehood makes me doubt. 
That constant and best friend I go in quest of, 
It were inhuman in their birth to strangle 
His promising hopes of comfort. 

MoiU. Cleremond 
Pass by me as a stranger ! at a time too 
When 1 am fill'd with such excess of joy, 
So swollen and surfeited with true delight. 
That had I not found out a friend, to whom 
I might impart them, and so give them vent. 
In their abundance they would force a passagCi 
And let out life together ! Prithee, bear. 
For friendship's sake, a part of that sweet burthen 
Which I shrink under ; and when thou hast read 
Fair BelliKant subscribed, so near my name too, 
OlMerve but that, — thou must, with me, confess, 
There cannot be room in one lover's heart 
Capirious enough to entertain 
Such multitudes of pleasures. 

Cler. I joy with yon, 
Let that suffice, and envy not your blessings ; 
May they increase ! Farewell, friend. 

JIf'/n/. How ! no more ? 
By the snow-white baud that writ these characters, 
It is a breach of courtesy and manners, 
So coldly to take notice of his good, 
Whom you call friend ! See further : here she writes 
That she is truly sensible of my suflferings, 
And not alone vouchsafes to call me servant, 
But to employ me in a cause that much 
Concerns her in her honour ; there's a favour ! 
Are you yet stupid ? — and, that, two hours hence. 
She does expect me in the private walks 
Neighbouring the Louvre : cannot all this move 
I oould be angry. A tenth of these bounties [you ? 
But promised to you from Leonora, 
To witness my affection to my friend, 
In his behalf, had taught me to forget 
All mine own miseries- 

Cler. Do not mbiinterpret 
This coldness in me ; for alas ! Montrose, 
1 am a thing so made up of affliction, 
So everv wav contemn'd, that I conclude 
My sorrows are infectious ; and my company, 
liiw ancb m have foul ulcers running on thenif 

To be with care avoided. May your happiness, 
In the favour of the matcUen Bellisant, 
Hourly increase ! and — my best wishes guard you 1 
'Tis all that I can give. 

Mont, You must not leave me. 

Cler, Indeed I must and will ; mine own engage- 
Call me away. [meuts 

Mont. What are they ? I presume 
There cannot be a secret of that weight. 
You dare not trust me with ; and should yon doubt 
I justly might complain that my affection [me^ 
Is placed unfortunately. 

Cler, 1 know you are honest ; 
And this is such a business, and requires 
Such sudden execution, that it cannot 
Fall in the compass of your will, or power, 
To do me a friend's office. In a word. 
On terms that near concern me in mine honour, 
I am to fight the quarrel, mortal too. 
The time some two hours hence, the place ten 

Distant from Paris ; and when you shall know 
I yet am unprovided of a second. 
You will excuse my sudden parting from you. 
Farewell, Montrose' 

Mont. Not so ; I am the man 
Will run the danger with you ; and must tell yoiit 
That, while 1 Uve, it was a wrong to seek 
Another's arm to second yon. Lead the way ; 
My horse stands ready. 

Cler, I confess 'tis noble, 
For you to offer this, bat it were base 
In me to accept it. 

Mont. Do not scorn me, friend. 

Cler. No; but admire and honour you; and 
Serious consideration, must refuse [from that 

The tender of your aid. France knows you valiant^ 
And that you might, in single opposition. 
Fight for a crown ; but millions of reasons 
Forbid me your assistance. You forget 
Your own designs ; being, the very minute 
I am to encounter with mine enemy. 
To meet your mistress, such a mistress too. 
Whose favour you so many years have sought : 
And will you then, when she vouchsafes access, 
Nay more, invites you, check at her fair offer ? 
Or shall it be repeated, to my shame. 
For my own ends I robb'd you of a fortune 
Princes might envy ? Can you even hope 
She ever will receive yon to her presence. 
If you neglect her now? — Be wise, dear friend, 
And, in your prodigality of goodness, 
Do not undo yourself. Live long and happy, 
And leave me to my dangers. 

Mont, Cleremond, 
I have with patience heard you« and consider'd 
The strength of your best arguments ; weigh *d the 
I run in mine own fortunes : but again, [dangers 
When I oppose the sacred name of friend 
Against those joys I have so long pursued, 
Neither the beauty of fair Bellisant, 
Her wealth, her virtues, can prevail so far, 
In such a desperate case as this, to leave you.— 
To have it to posterity recorded. 
At such a time as this I proved true gold, 
And current in my friendship, shall be to me 
A thousand mistresses, and such embraces 
As leave no sting behind them ; therefore, on : 
I am resolved, unless you beat me off, 
I will not leave you. ^ ^ 




Cter. Oh ! here w a jewel 
Pit for the cabinet of the greatest monarch ! 
But 1 of all men miserable 

Mont, Come, be cheerful i 
Good fortune will attend as. 

Cler. That, to me, 
To haTe the greatest blessing, a true friend. 
Should be the greatest curse !— Be yet advised. 

Mont, It is in vain. 

Cler, That e'er I should haTe cauie 
To wish you had loved less I 

Mont, The hour draws on : 
We'll talk more as we ride. 

Cler» Of men most wretched ! lExrtint. 

SCENE in. — A Room in Bblliaant's House, 
Bnter BsLLtsATr and iRxAvrKe., 

Bell, Nay, pray you, dry your eyes, or your sad 
Whose every accent still, methinkf, I hear, [story 
'Twas with such passion, and such grief deliver'd, 
Will make mine bear your's connpany. All my 
The rigorous repulse this worst of mrn, [fear is, 
Fabe, perjured Clarindore — I. am sick to name 
Receiv^ at his last visit, will deter him [him — 
From coming again. 

Beau. No ; be*a resolved to venture ; 
And has bribed me, with haxard of your anger, 
To get him access, but in another shape : 
The time prefixed draws near too. 

BeU, 'Tis the better. IKnodtIng withm 

One knocks. 

Beau, 1 am sure 'tis he. 

Bell, Convey him in ; 
But do it with a face of fear : [Exit Become. 

I cannot 
Resolve yet with what looks to entertain him. 
You Powers that favour innocence, and revenge 
Wrongs done by such as scornfully deride 
Your awful names, inspire me I [ITa/kt aside. 

Reenter BsAuniB. with CLARUfooma ditf^uised. 

Beau. Sir, I hazard 
My service in this action. 

Clarin. Thou shalt live 
To be the mistress of thyself and others. 
If that my projects hit : all's at the stake now ; 
And as the die falls, I am made most happy. 
Or past expression wretched. 

Bell. Ha ! who's that ? 
What bold intmder usher you } This rudeness ' — 
Prom whence ? what would he ? 

Beau He brings letters, madam. 
As he says, from lord Chnmont. 

Clarin. How her frowns fright me ! 

Bell. From lord Cbamont ? Are they of surh 
That you, before my pleasure be enquire. 
Dare bring the bearer to my private chamber } 
No more of this : your packet, sir ? 

Clarin. The letters 
Dcliver'd to my trust and fiiith are writ 
In such mysterious and dark characters. 
As will require the judgment of your soul. 
More than your eye, to read and understand them. 

£i^/. Wbatriddle'sthis? [Ditewering Clariv,] 
— Ha ! am I then contemn*d ? 
Dare yon do this, presuming on my soft 
▲ad fentle nature ? — Fear not, I mnst shew 

A seeming anger. [^A fide to BGAurRB.] — What 

new boisterous courtship, 
Af^er your late loose language, and forced kis*. 
Come you to practise ? 1 know none beyond it. 
If you imagine that you may commit 
A rape in mine own house, and that my servants 
Will stand tame lookers on 

Clarin, If 1 bring with me 
^ne thought, but of submission and sorrow. 
Or nourish any hope, but that your goodneas 
May please to sign my pardon, may 1 perish 
In your displeasure ! which, to me, is more 
Than fear of hell hereafter. I confess. 
The violence I offered to your sweetness. 
In my presumption, with lips impure. 
To force a touch from yours, a greater crime 
Than if I should have mix'd lascivious flames 
With those chaste fires that bum at Dian's altar. 
That 'twas a plot of treason to your virtues, 
To think you could be tempted, or believe 
You were not fuhion'd in a better mould, 
And made of purer clay, than other women. 
Since you are, then, tbe phoenix of your time. 
And e'en now, while you bless the earth, partake 
Of their angelical essence, imitate 
Heaven's aptness to forgive, when mercy*s sued for, 
And once more take me to your grace and favour. 

Bell, What charms are these 1 What an en- 
chanting tongue ! 
What pity 'tis, one that can speak so well, 
Should, in hb actions, be so ill I 

Beau, Take heed, 
Lo»e not yourself. 

Bell. So well, sir, you have pleaded. 
And like an advocate, in your own cause. 
That, though your guilt were greater, I acquit yoot 
The fault no more reroember'd ; and for proof. 
My heart partakes in my tongue, thus seal your 
pardon ; \,Ki**et &««•, 

And with this willing favour (which forced from 

Caird on my anger) make atonement with you. 

Clarin, If I dream now, O, may I never wake. 
But slumber thus ten ages ! 

Bell, Till this minute. 
You ne'er to me look'd lovely. 

Clnrin, How ! 

Bell, Nor have I 
E'er seen a mun, in my opinion, worthy 
Tbe bounty 1 vouchsafe you : therefore fix here. 
And make me understand that you can bear 
Your fortune modestly. 

Clarin, I find her coming: 
This kiss was but the prologue to the play, 
And not to seek the rest, were cowardice. 
Help me, dissimulation ! l^Aside,"] — Pardon, ma. 
i Though now, when I should put on cheerful looks. 
In being blest with what I durst not hope for, 
I change the comic scene, and do present you 
With a most tragic spectacle. 

BelL Heaven avert 
This prod Iffy ! What mean you ? 

Clarin, To confirm. 
In death, how truly 1 have loved. I grant 
Your fiivours done me, 3neld this benefit. 
As to make way for me to pass in peace 
To my long rest ; what I have tasted from yov, 
Informs me only of the much I want : 
Por in your pardon, and tbe kiss vouchsafed 


PQKIfB 1. 



Yoa (iid but point me oat a fore-right way 
To lead to certaiD happiness, and then wiU'd me 
To move no further. Pray you, excase me, there- 
Thoagh I desire to end a lingering torment. 
And, if yoa please, with your fair hand, to make me 
A SRcrifice to your chastity, I will meet 
The instrument yoa make choice of, with more 

Than ever Cssar did, to hog the mistress* 
He doted on, plamed Victory : but if that 
You do abhor the office, as too full 
Of cruelty, and horror, yet give leave, 
That, in your presence, I myself may be 
Both priest and offering. llhrawt kit twrd. 

Bell, Hold, hold, frantic man t 
The shrine of love shall not be bathed in blood. 
Women, thoagh fair, were made to bring forth 

And not destroy them ; therefore, hold, I say 1 
I had a mother, and she look'd upon me 
As on a true epitome of her youth : 
Nor can 1 think I am forbid the comfort 
To bring forth little models of myself. 
If heaven be pleased (my nuptial joys perfonn'd) 
To make me fraitfiil. 

Ctaritu Such celestial music 
Ne'er blest these ears. O ! you have argued better 
Frr me, than I could for mysel£ 

BtU, For you! 
What, did 1 give you hope to be my husband ? 

CUrin, Fallen off again ! {Atidt, 

Beli, Yet since you have given sure proof 
Of love and constancy, VU unmask those thoughts. 
That long have been conceal'd ; I am yours, but 
In an honourable way. [how ? 

CUftrin, I were more than base. 
Should I desire you otherwise. 

BtU, True affection 
Needs not a contract : and it were to doubt me, 

To engage me farther ; yet^ mf tow ezpiredy 
Which is, to live a rirgin for a year. 
Challenge my promise. 

Clarin. For a year ! O, madam I 
Play not the tyranness ; do not give me hop«y 
And in a moment change them to despair. 
A year ! alas, this body, that's all fire. 
If you refuse to quench it with your favour, 
Will in three days be dnders ; and your mercy 
Will come too late then. Dearest lady, marriage 
Is but a ceremony ; and a hurtful vow 
Is in the breach of it better commended, 
Than in the keeping. O ! I bum, 1 burn ; 
And if you take not pity, I must fly 
To my last refuge. {Q0hrt to ttab kim§e^. 

BeU. Hold ! Say I could yield 
This night, to sati^ you to the full, 
And you should swear, until the wedding-day. 
To keep the fiitvours I now grant conceal'd ; 
You would be talking. 

Clarin. May my tongue rot out, then I 

BelL Or boast to your companions of your con- 
And of my easiness. [quest, 

Clarin. 1*11 endure the rack first 
'BeU. And, having what you long for, cast me off, 
As you did madam Beaupre. 

(*lat in. May the earth 
First gape, and swallow me I 

Bell. I'll press you no farther. 
Go in, your chamber's ready ; if you have 
A bedf<dlow, so : but silencie I enjoin jou^ 
And liberty to leave you when I please : 
I blush, if you reply. * 

Clarin. Till now ne'er happy ! [BMl. 

Beau. What means your ladyship ? 

BeU, Do not ask, but do 
As 1 direct you: though as yet we tread 
A rough and thorny way, faint not ; the ends 
I hope to reach shall make a large amends. 


SCENE I — A Room in Dinant's House. 
Enter Novau. and Dm ant. 

Din. You are welcome first, sir ; and that spoke, 
A faithful promise, all that art, or long [reoeiTC 
Experience, hath taught me, shall enlarge 
Themselves for your recovery. 

Nov. Sir, I thank you. 
As far as a weak, sick, and unable man 
Has power to express; but what wants in my 

My hand (for yet my fingers feel no gout) 
SShall speak in this dumb language. 

IGivei him his purtt. 

Din. You are too magnificent. 

Nov. Fie ! no, sir ; health is, sure, a precious 
We cannot buy it too dear. [jewel. 

Din. Take comfort, sir ; 
I find not, by your urine, nor your pulse. 
Or any outward symptom, that you are 
In sny certain danger. 

Nov. Oh I the more my fear : 
Ifvfirmities that are known are ... cured. 
But when the canaes of them are conceal'd. 

As these of mine are, doctor, they prove mortal t 
Howe'er, I'll not furget you while I live. 
Do but your parts. 

Din. Sir, they are at your lervice. 
I'll give you some preparatives, to Instruct me 
Of your inward temper ; then, as I find cause. 
Some gentle purge. 

Nov. Yes, I must purge ; I die else « 
But where, dear doctor, you shall not find oaL 
This is a happy entrance, may it end well ! 
I'll mount your nightcap, Doddipol. [Jjftfft 

Din. In what part, 
(We are sworn to secrecy, and you must be free,) 
bo you find your greatest agony ? 

Nov, Oh ! I have 
Strange motions on the sudden ; villainous tumoun, 
That rise, then fidl, then rise again ; oh, doctor ! 
Not to be shewn or named. 

Din. Then, in my judgment. 
You had best leave Paris : ehooee iOBe firciher air { 
That does help much in physic. 

Nov. By no means*. 
Here, in your house, or no where, yoa must curs 




The eye of the master fats the hone ; and when 
His doctor's by. the patient may drink wine 
In a fit of a burning fever : for your presence 
Works more than what you minister. Take physic, 
Attended on by ignorant grooms, mere strangers 
To your directions, I must hazard life. 
And you your reputation 1 whereas, sir, 
I hold your house a coll^;e of your art, 
And erery boy yon keep, by you instructed, 
A pretty piece of a Galenist : then the females, 
From your most fair wife to your kitchen drudge, 
Are so familiar with your learned courses. 
That, to an herb, they know to make thin broth : 
Or, when occasion serres, to cheer the heart. 
And such ingredient I shall have most need of. 
How many rocks o' the game make a strong cullis, 
Or pheasant's eg^s a caudle. 

Din. I am glad 
To hear you argue with such strength. 

Enter CLAancDA oimI whispers DnrAiiT. 

ATov. A flash, sir: 
But now 1 feel my fit again. — She is 
Made up of all perfection,; any danger 
That leads to the enjoying so much sweetness 
Is pleasure at the height : I am ravish'd with 
The mere imagination. Oh happiness ! — [AsULs, 

Din. How's this ! One from the Duke Nemouri ? 

Cla. Yes, sir. 

Din. 'Tis rank : 
The sight of my wife hath forced him to forget 
To counterfeit: [As%d9.\~~l now gness at yonr 

And if I fit you not— 

Cla. The gentleman stays jovu 

Din, 1 come to him presently; in the mean time, 
Be careful of this monsieur : nay, no coyness, 
You may salute him boldly ; his pale lips 
Enchant not in the touch. 

Nov. Her's do, Vm sure. 

Din. Kiss him again. 

Cla. Sir, this is more than modest. 

Din. Modest ! why, fool, desire b dead in him : 
Call it a charitable, pious work. 
If it refresh his spirits. 

Nov, Yes, indeed, sir. 
1 find great ease in it. 

Din. Mark that ! and would yon 
Deny a sick man comfort ? meat's against 
----- physic, must be granted too, 
- - - - wife - - - - you shall, 
In person, wait on him ; nay, hang not off, 
I say you shall : this night, with your own hands, 
I'll have you air his bed, and when he eats 
Of what you have prepared, you shall sit by him. 
And, with some merry chat, help to repair 
Decayed appetite ; watch by him when he slumbers; 
Nay, play his page's part : more, I durst trust you, 
Were this onr wedding-day, you 3ret a virgin. 
To be his bedfellow ; for well I know 
Old Priam's impotence, or Nestor's hernia b 
Herculean activeness, if but compared 
To his debility : put him to hU oath. 
He'll swear he can do nothing. 

Nov. Do ! O no, sir ; 
I am past the thought of it. 

Din. But how do you like 
The method I prescribe ? 

AToo. Beyond expression t 

Upon the mere report I do conceive 
Hope of recovery. 

Cla. K^e you mad ? 

Din. Peace, fool. 
This night you shall take a cordial to streng^then 
Your feeble limbs :«.' twill cost ten crowns a 

Nov. No matter, sir. [draught. 

Din, To-morrow yon shall walk 
To see my garden ; then my wife shall shew yon 
The choice rooms of my house ; when yon are weary^ 
Cast yourself on her conch. 

Nov. Oh, divine doctor ! 
What man in health would not be sick, on purpose 
To be your patient ? 

Din, Come, sir, to your chamber ; 
And now 1 understand where your disease lies, 
(Nay, lead him by the hand,) donbt not Til core 
you. IBxeumL 

SCENE U,—Jn open part qf the Country 


Emter CLMMmmotm and Mootbosb. 

Clsr, ThiB is the pbce. 

Mont. An even piece of ground, 
Without advantage ; bnt be jocund, friend t 
The honour to have entered first the field, 
Howerer we come off, b ours. 

Cler. I need not, 
So well I am acquainted with yonr valour. 
To dare, in a good cause, as much' as man. 
Lend yon encouragement ; and should I add. 
Your power to do, which Fortune, howe'er blindy 
Hath ever seconded, I cannot doubt 
But victory still sits upon your sword, 
And must not now forsake yon. 

Moni. Yon shall see me 
Come boldly up ; nor will I shame your cause. 
By parting with an inch of ground not bought 
With blood on my part. 

Cler. 'Tb not to be questioned : 
That which 1 would entreat, (and pray you grant it,} 
Is, that you would forget your usual softnessy 
Your foe being at your mercy ; it hath been 
A custom in you, which I dare not praise, 
Having disarm 'd your enemy of hb sword. 
To tempt your fate, by yielding it again ; 
Then run a second hazard. 

Mont. When we encounter 
A noble foe, we cannot be too noble. 

Cler. That 1 confess ; bnt he that's now to op* 
pose you, 
I know for an arch villain ; one that hath lost 
All feeling of humanity, one that hates 
Groodness in others, 'cause he*s ill himself ; 
A most ungrateful wretch, (the name's too gentle^ 
All attributes of vrickedness cinnot reach him,) 
Of whom to have deserved, beyond example. 
Or precedent of friendship, b a vrrong 
Which only death can satisfy. 

Mont. Yon describe 
A monster to me. 

Cler. True, Montrose, be b so. 
Afric, though fertile of strange prodigies. 
Never produced hb equal ! be wise, therefore, 
And if he fall into your hands, dispatch him : 
Pity to him b cruelty. IThe sad father. 
That sees his son stung by a snake to death. 
May, with more justice, stay his vengeful hand* 

tMncmc in. 



And let the worm escape, than you Touchsafe him 
A minute to repent : for 'tis a slaTe 
So told to hell and mischief ; that a traitor 
To his most lawful prince, a charch-robber, 
A parricide, who, when his gamers are 
Craram'd with the purest grain, suffers his parents, 
Being old, and weak, to starve for want of bread ; 
Compared to him, are innocent 

Mont. I ne'er heard 
CM SDch a cursed nature ; if Iong.lived, 
He would infect mankind : rest you assured, 
He finds from me small courtesy. 

Cler. And expect 
As little from him : blood is that he thirsts for, 
Not honourable wounds. 

Mani, I would I had him 
Within my sword's length ! 

Cier, Have thy wish : Thou hast 1 

[CLUtBiioaD drawi hti Bwvrd, 

Nay, draw thy sword, and suddenly ; I am 
That monster, temple-robber, parricide, 
Ingrateful wretch, friend-hater, or what else 
Makes up the perfect figure of the devil, 
Should he appear like man. Banish amazement, 
And call thy ablest spirits up to guard thee. 
From him that's tum'd a Fury. I am made 
Her minister, whose cruelty but named. 
Would with more horror strike the pale-cheek'd 

Than all those dreadful words which conjurers 

To fright their damn'd fiitmiliars. Look not on me 
As I am, Cleremond ; 1 have parted with 
The essence that was his, and entertain'd 
The soul of some fierce tigress, or a wolf's 
New-hang'd for human slaughter, and 'tis fit * 
I could not eke be an apt instrument 
To bloody Leonora. 

Mnnt. To my knowledge 
I never wrong'd her. 

Ckr, Yes, in being a friend 
To me she hated, my best friend ; her malice 
Would look no lower : — and for being such. 
By her commands, Montrose, I am to kill thee. 
Oh, that thou hadst, like others, been all words. 
And no performance 1 or that thou hadst made 
Some little stop in thy career of kindness ! 
Why wouldst thou, to confirm the name of firiend. 
Despise the favours of fair Bellisant, 
And ail those certain joys that waited for thee ? 
Snatch at this fatal offer of a second. 
Which others fled firom ? — 'Tis in vain to mourn 

Wlien there's no help ; and therefore, good Mont- 
Rouse thy mort manly parts, and think thou 

stand 'st now 
A champion for more than king or country ; 
^nce, in thy faU. goodness itself must suffer. 
Remember too, the baseness of the wrong 
- - - friendship ; let it edge thy sword, 
And kill compassion in thee ; and forget not 
1 will take all advantages : and so, 
Without reply, have at thee ! 

[TkefJigllU. CueMMMono/aiU. 
Moni. See, how weak 
An ill cause is ! you are already fallen : 
What can you look for now ? 

CIgr. Fool, use thy fortune : 
And so be countels tiise, that, if we had 

Changed places, instancy wmdd have cut thy 
Or digg'd^ thy heart out. [throat, 

Mont, In requital of 
That savage purpose, 1 must pity you ; 
Witness these tears, not tears of joy for conquest. 
But of true sorrow for your nusery. 
Live, O live, Cleremond, and, lU^e « man. 
Make use of reason, as an exorcist 
To cast this devil out, that does abuse you ; 
This fiend of false affection. 

Cler, Will you not kiU me ? 
You are then more tyrannous than Leonora. 
An easy thrust will do it : you had ever 
A charitable hand ; do not deny me. 
For our old friendship's sake : no ! wiirt not be ? 
There are a thousand doors to let out life ; 
You keep not guard of all : and 1 shall find. 
By falling headlong from some rocky cliff. 
Poison, or fire, that long rest which your sword 
Discourteously denies me. ZBxiU 

Mont, 1 will follow ; 
And something I must fancy, to dissuade him 
From doing sudden violence on himself : 
That's now my only aim ; and that to me, 
Succeeding well, is a true victory. {Bxit. 

SCENE III.— Paris — An outer Room in 
Chamont's House, 

Enter CaAMOirr di^fui*€d, and Dutamt. 

Dm. Your lady tempted too I 

Cham. And tempted home ; 
Summon'd to parley, the fort almost yielded. 
Had not I stepp'd in to remove the si^;e : 
But I have countermined his works, and if 
You second me, will blow the letcher up, 
And laugh to see him caper. 

Din, Any thing : 
Command me as your servant, to join with you : 
All ways are honest we take, to revenge us 
Ou these lascivious monkies of the court, 
That make it their profession to dishonour 
Grave citizens' wives ; nay, those of higher rank. 
As 'tis, in your's, apparent. My young rambler. 
That thought to cheat me with a feign'd disease, 
I have in the toil already ; I have given him, 
Under pretence to make him high and active, 
A cooler : — I dare warrant it will yield 
Rare sport to see it work ; J would your lordship 
Could be a spectator. 

Cham. It is that 1 aim at : 
And might I but persuade you to dispense 
A little with yuur candour, and consent 
To make your house the stage, on which we'll act 
A comic scene ; in the pride of all their hopes. 
We'll shew these shallow fools sunk-eyed despair. 
And triumph in their punishment. 

Din. My house. 
Or whatsoever else is mine, shall serve 
As properties to grace it. 

Cham. In this shape, then, 
Leave me to work the reat. 

Din, Doubt not, my lord. 
You shall find all tlkings ready. [IMt 


Cham, This sorts well 
With my other purposes. 
Aid me. invention ! 

Perigot ! to osy wiah- 



Peri. Is the qoeiin fallen off? 
I hear not from her P-^'da the hour and plaoa 
That she appointed. 

What have we here ? This fellow has a pimp's face, 
And looks as if he were her call, her fe tc h 

Cham. Sir, from the party, 
The lady yoa should truck with, the lord's wife 
Your worship is to dub, or to make free 
Of the company of the homers. 

Peri, Fair Lamira ? 

Cham, The same, sir. 

Pert. And how, my honest squire o'dames ? I 
Thou art of her privy council. [see 

Cham. Her grant holds, sir. 

PfTt, O rare 1 But wheaf 

Cham, Marry, instantly. 

Peri, Bat where ? 

Cham, She hath outgone the cmning of ■ wo- 
In ordering it both privately and •eeureij : [man. 
You know Dinant, the doctor ? 

Peri, Good. 

Cham. His house 
And him she has made at her devotion, dr. 
>Iay, wonder not ; most of these empirics 
l*hrive better by connivance in such cases. 
Than their lame practice : framing some distemper. 
The fool, her loni 

Peri, Lords may be what they please ; 
I question not their patent. 

Cham, Hath consented 
That this night, privately, she shall take a dyitnr ; 
'^'hich he believes the doctor ministen. 
And never thinks of you. 

Peri, A good wench stilL 

Cham, And there^ without iuspicion^— 

Peri. Excellent! 
I make this lord my cuckold ? 

Cham, True ; and write 
The reverend drudging doctor, my copartner. 
And fellow bawd : next year we will have him 
Of our society. [warden 

Peri. There ! there 1 I shall burst, 
I am so swollen with pleasure ; no more talking, 
Denr keeper of the vaulting door ; lead on. 

Cham. Chai^ you as boldly. 

Peri. Do not fear; I have 
A staff to taint, and bravely. 

Cham. Save the splinters. 
If it break in the encounter. 

Pen. Witty rascal 1 

SCENE lV.r-~A Room in Bbllmant'b Houee. 
Enter CLAaiMDoaa, BauiaAicT, atnd RaAOvaa. 

Clariu, Boast of your iavourt, madam 1 

Beli, Pardon, sir, 
My fears, since it is grown a general custom. 
In our hot youth, to keep a catalogoe 
Of conquests this way got ; nor do they think 
Their victory complete, unless they publish, 
To their disgrace, that are made captives to them, 
How far they have prevail'd. 

Clmrin. I would have such raaoalf 
First gelded, and then hang'd. 

Seli. Remember too, sir. 
To what extremities yonr love had bronght yon ; 
And, ainoe I saved your life, I may, with justice, 
By silenflt chaige yon to preserve mine honour ; 

Which, howsoever to my conscious self 
I am tainted, foully tainted, to the world 
I am free from all snspicion. 

Clarin, Can you think 
ril do myself tluit wrong ? although I had 
A lawyer's mercenary tongue, still moving, 
- - - -le this precious carcanett these jeweli» 
• - of your magnificence, would keep me 
A Pythagorean, and ever silent. 
No, rest secure, sweet lady ; and excuse 
My sudden and abrupt deputure from you : 
And if the feult makes forfeit of your grace, 
A quick return shall ransome and redeem it. 

Beli. Be mindful of your oaths. 

C IFottf oHiU with Baauran. 

Clarin. I am got off. 
And leave the memory of them behind me. 
Now, if 1 can find out my scoffing gulls, 
Novall and Perigot, besides my wager, 
Which is already sure, 1 shall return 
Their bitter jests, and wound them with my tongue. 
Much deeper than my sword. Oh 1 but the oatha 
I have made to the contrary, and her credit. 
Of which I should be tender : — tush ! both hold 
With me an equal value. The wise say, 
That the whole fabric of a woman's lighter 
Than wind or feathers : what is then her fame ? 
A kind of nothing ; — not to be preserved 
With the loss of so much money : 'tis sound doe- 
And I will follow it. [JEjrtt. 

Sell. Prithee, be not doubtfU; 
Let the wild colt run his course. 

Beau, I must confess 
I cannot sound the depth of what you purposot 
But I much fear 

Bell. That he will blab ; I know it, 
And that a secret scalds him : that he suffers 
Till he hath vented what I seem to wish 
He should conceal ; — ^but let him, 1 am arm'd for't. 


SCENE Y.—A Room te DnAKr't Hotuo. 
Enter CaAMOirr, DnrAirr, LAMmA, CLAaoma, and 

Cham. For Perigot, he's in the toil ne'er doubt 
O, had you seen how his veins swell'd with lust, [it. 
When I brought him to the chamber! how he 

And stretch'd his limbs, preparing them for action ; 
And, taking me to be a pander, told me 
'Twas more delight to have a lord his cuckold. 
Than to enjoy my lady ! — there I left him 
In contemplation, greedily expecting 
Lamira's presence ; but, instead of her, 
I have prepared him other Tisitants.— 
You know what you have to do ? 

1 Serv. Fear not, my lord. 

He shall curvet, I warrant him, in a blanket. 

2 Serv. We'll discipline him with dog-whip> 

and take off 
His rampant edge. 

Cham. His iSie ; saTC thai—remember. 
You cannot be too cnieL 

Din. For his pupil. 
My wife's Inamorato, if cold weeds. 
Removed but one degree from deadly poison, 
Have not forgot their certain operation, [ 

You shall see his courage cool'd ; and in that 

■mnB T« 




Till he have howlM himself into my pardon, 

I TOW to ke^p him. 
Nov. [wiihin.] Ho, doctor 1 master doctor 1 
Dm* The game's afoot ; we will let slip : con- 

Yoursclvcb a little. {Rxeunt ali but DiNAirr. 

Enter Notalu 

Xor, Oh 1 a thousand agues 
Play at harley-break in my bones ; my blood's a 
On the sudden frozen, and the isicles [pool 

Cut every vein : 'tis here, there, every where ; 
Ok devt dear, master doctor 1 

Din, 1 must stem 
Not to nnderstand him; 'twill increase his tor- 
ture. — lAtUU' 
How do you, sir ? has the potion wrought ? do 

you feel 
An alteration ? hare your swelling! left you ? 
Is your blood still rebellious ? 

j^or. Oh, good doctor, 
I am a ghost ! I have nor flesh, nor blood, 
Nor heat, nor warmth, about me. 

Din, Do not dissemble ; 
I know you are high and joviaL 

Nov. JoTiall doctor; 
No, I am all amort, as if 1 had lain 
Three days in my grave already. 

Dm. I will raise you : 
For, look yoQ, sir, you are a liberal patient, 
Nor must I, while you can be such, part with you ; 
*Tis againut the laws of our college. Pray you, 
1 have with curiosity consider'd [iiiark me; 

Yonr roiistitution to be hot and moist. 
And that at your nativity Jupiter 
And Venus were in conjunction, whence it follows, 
By necessary consequence, you must be 
A mast insatiate letcher. 

Nov. Oh ! I have been. 
I have been, 1 confess : but now I cannot 
Think of a woman. 

Din. For your health you must, sir, 
Both think, and see, and touch ; you're but a 
dead man else. 

Nov. That way, 1 am already. 

Din. You must take. 
And suddenly, ('tis a conceal'd receipt,) 
A buxom, juicy wench. 

Nov. Oh ! 'twill not down, air 
I have no swallow for't. 

Din. Now, since I would 
Have the disease as private as the cure, 
( For tis a secret,) I have wrought my wife 
To be both physic and physician, 
To give you ease : — will you walk to her ? 

Nov. Oh ! doctor, 
I cannot stand ; in every sense about me 
I have the palsy, but my tongue. 

Din. Nay then, 
Ton are obstinate, and refuse my gentle offer 
Or else 'tis foolish modesty : — Come hither, 
Come, my Clarinda, 

Be-fnter Clabiirm. 

'tis not common courtesy ; 
Comfort the gentleman. 

Nov. This is ten times worse, 

CiUtm. [wiikm.'] He does torment him rarely. 

Dim. She is not coy, sir. 
What think yon, is not this a pretty foot. 
And a dean instep .' 1 will leave the calf 

For you to find and judge of : here's a hand too ; 
Try It. the palm is moist; the youthful blood 
Kiins strong in every azure Tein : the face too 
NeVr knew the help of art ; and, all together. 
May serve the turn, after a long sea foyage. 
For the captain's self. 

Nov. I am a swabber, doctor, 
A bloodlesa swabber ; have not strength enongfa 
To cleanse her poop. 

Din. Fie ! yon shame yourself, 
And the profession of your rutting gallants. 
That hold their doctors' wires as free tor them. 
As some of us do our apothecaries' 1 

Nov. Good air, no more. 

Din Take her aside ; comnte me ; 
I give you leare : what should a quacksalve, 
A fellow that does deal with drugs, as I do. 
That has not means to give her choice of gowna. 
Jewels, and rich embroidered pettic(»ats. 
Do with so fair a bedfellow ? she being fashion'd 
To purge a rich heir*8 reins, to be the mistress 
Of a court gallant t Did you not tell her so ? 

Nov. I have betray'd myself! I did, I did. 

Din. And that rich merchants, adfocatet, acd 
Howe'er deserving from the commonwealth. 
On fotfeit of the city's charter, were 
Predestined cuckolds ? 

Nov. Oh, some pity, doctor ! 
I was an heretic, but now converted. 
Some little, little respite ! 

Din. No, you town-bnll ; 
- - - -venge all good men's wrongs, 
And now vHll play the tyrant. To dissect tiiee. 
Eat thy flesh off vnth burning corrosives. 
Or write with aquafortis in thy forehead. 
Thy last intent to wrong my bed, were jostioe ; 
And to do less were foolish pity In me : 
I speak it, ribald I 

Nov. Perigot! Perigot! 
Woe to thy cursed counsel. 

JU-tnUr Cbamont oimI Lamma. 
Cham. Perigot! 
Did he advise you to this course ? 
Nov. He did. 

Cham. And he has his reward for't. 
Peri. \tcithin.'\ Will you murder me I 
Serv. trithin.\ Once more, aloft w*'*- 
Peri. [tet/AiM.] Murder ! murder ! 

aloft with him. 
murder ! 

JU-fnUr Servants, with Pewioot in a btanktt. 
Cham. What conceaFd bake-meats have yon 
there ? a present ? 
Is it goat's flesh ? It smells rank. 

1 Serv. We have had 
Sweet work of it, my lord. 

2 Serv. I warrant you tis tender. 

It wants no cooking ; yet, if yon think fit. 
We'll bruise it again. 

Peri. As yon are Christians, spare me ! 
I am jelly within already, and without 
Embroidered all o'er with statute lace. 
What would you more } 

Nov. My tutor in the gin, too ! 
This is some comfort : he is as good as drench 'd : 
And now well both be chaste. 

Cham. What, ia't a cat 
Yon haTC enoonnter'd, monsieur, yon are scnttrh'd 
My lady, sure, forgot to psne her naila, [to r 

Before your soft embraces. 



A0r ▼• 

Din, He hu ta'en great paint : 
Wbat a sweat he's in ! 

Cham. O ! he's a master-daacer, 
Knows how to caper i&to a lady'i ftnrour : 
One lofty trick mors, dear monsieor. 

JVbo. That I had 
But strength enough to laugh at him ! blanketted 

like a dog, 
And like a cut- purse whipt ! I am sure that now, 
He cannot jeer me. ^ 

Peri, May not a man hare leave 
To hang himself? 

Chain, No ; that were too much mercy. 
Live to be wretched ; live to be the talk 
Of the conduit and the bakehouse. I will have thee 
Pictured as thou art now, and thy whole story 
Sung to some villainous tune in a lewd ballad ; 
And make thee so notorious to the world, 
That boys in the streets shall hoot at thee : come, 

And triumph o'er him. — Dost thou see this lady. 
My wife, whose honour foolishly thou thonght'st 
To undermine, and make a servant to 
Thy brutish lusta, laughing at thy affliction ? 
And, as a sign she scorns thee, set her foot 
Upon thy head ? Do so :— 'Sdeath ! but resist. 
Once more you caper. 

Peri. I am at the stake, 
And roust endure it. 

Cham. Spurn him, too. 

Lam, Troth, sir, 
1 do him too much grace. 

Cham. Now, as a schoolboy 
Does kiss the rod that gave him chastisement. 
To prove thoa art a slave, meet, with thy lips, 
Thiit instrument that corrects thee. , 

Peru Have yon done yet ? 

Din, How like a pair of crett«faU'n jades they 
look now I 

Cla, They are not worth our scorn. 

Peru O pupil, pupil 1 

Nov. Tutor, I am drench'd: let us condole 

Cham, ^d where*s the tickling itch now, my 
dear monsieur. 
To say. This lonTs my euekold ! — I am tired : 
That we had fresh dogs to hunt them ! 



- - - - 1 am acquainted with the story { 
The doctor's man has told me alL 

Din. Upon them. 

Peri. Clarindore! worst of all: — for him to 
Is a second blanketting to me. [know this, 

Nov. I again 
Am drench'd to look on him. 

Ciarin, How is't ? nay, bear up ; 
You that commend adultery, I am glad 
To see it thrive so well. Fie, Perigot I 
Dejected ? Haply thou wouldst have us thinky 
This is the first time that thou didst curvet. 
And come aloft in a blanket. By St. Dennis 1 
Here are shrewd scratches too ; but nothing to 
A man of resolution, whose shoulders 
Are of themselves armour of proof against 
A bastinado, and will tire ten beadles. 

Peri. Mock on ; know no mercy. 

Ciarin, Thrifty young men I 
What a charge is saved in wenching! and 'til 


A certain wager of three thousand crowns 
Is lost, and must be paid, my pair of puppies : 
The coy dame, Bellisant. hath stoop'd I bear wit- 
This chain and jewels yon nave seen her wear. 
The fellow, that her grooms kick'd down the stain» 
Hath crept into her bed ; and to assure you 
There's no deceit, she shall confess so much, 
I have enjoy 'd her. 

Cham, Are you serious ? 

Ciarin, Yes, and glory in it. 

Cham, Nay then, give over fooling. 
Thou liest, and art a villain, a base villain, 
To slander her. 

Ciarin, You are a lord, and that 
Bids me forbear you ; but I wiU make good 
Whatever I have said. 

Cham, ru not lose time 
To change words with thee. The king hath ordain'd 
A Parliament of Love to right her wrongs. 
To which I summon thee. lExU, 

Ciarin. Your worst: I care not.— Farewell, 
babions ! iEJ^ 

Din, Here was a sudden change ! 
Nay, you must quit my house : shog on, kind pa- 
And, as you like my physic, when you ^re [tient. 
Rampant again, you know I have that can cool you. 
Nay, monsieur Perigot, help your pupil off too. 
Your counsel brought him on. Ha ! no reply ? 
Are you struck dumb ? If you are wrong'd, com- 

Peri, We shall find friends to right us. [pliun. 

Din, And I justice. 
The cause being heard ; I ask no more. Hence ! 
vanish 1 IBxeunU 


SCENE l.^A Court tf JwHct, 

Enter Chamont, Phiuuioub, amt Lavobt. 

Phil. Montrose slain ! and by Cleremoiid ! 

Cham. 'Tis too true. 

Lqf. But wondrous strange, that any difference, 
Especially of such a deadly nature. 
Should e'er divide so eminent a friendship. 

Phil. The miracle is greater, that a lady. 
His mo«t devoted mistress, Leonora, 
Against the usual softness of her sex. 

Should with such violence and heat pursue 
Her amorous servant ; since I am inform'd 
That he was apprehended by her practice. 
And, when he comes to trial for his lif& 
She'U rise up his accuser. 

Cham. So 'tis rumour'd : 
And that's the motive that young Cleremond 
Makes it his humble suit, to have his cause 
Decided in the Parliament of Love ; 
For he pretends the bloody quarrel grew 
From grounds that claim a reference to that places 




Nor fears he, if you grant him equal hearing. 
Bat, ¥rith unanswerable proof, to render 
The cruel Leonora tainted with 
A guilt beyond his. 

L<^. The king is acquainted 
Already with the accident ; besides, 
He hath Touchsafed to read divers petitions 
Preferred on several causes ; one against 
Monsieur Dinant, his doctor, by Novall ; 
A second, in which madam Bellisant 
Complains 'gainst Clarindore ; there is a bill too, 
Brought in by Perigot, against your lordship ; 
All which, in person, he resolves to hear. 
Then, as a judge, to censure. lAjlourUh within. 

PhU, See the form 1 
Choice mnsick ushers him. 

Cham, Let us meet the troop, 
And mix with them. 

PhU, 'Twill poize your expectation. lExeunU 

Ltmd Music. Enter Charlbs followed by Orleans, Ni« 
Moima, Cramoitt, Lafort, and Philamour. A Priest 
%Htk the image of Cupid ; then enter Clkrkmoio), Ci.a- 
RixooRB, Pkrioot, Novall, Bblubant, Lbonora, 
Bbauprk*. Lamira, CiAHiifOA, and Officera Montrom 
it hroughtfoneard on a bier, and placed t^fure the Bar. 

Char. Let it not seem a wonder, nor beget 
An ill opinion in this fair assembly, 
That here I place this statue ; 'tis not done, 
Upon the forfrit of our grace, that you 
Should, with a superstitious reverence. 
Fall down and worship it : nor can it be 
Presumed, we hope, young Charles, that justly holds 
The honoured title of most Christian Kin:/^ 
Would ever nouri.<«h such idolatrous thuughts. 
*Tis rather to instruct deceived mankind. 
How much pure Love, that has his birlh in heaven, 
And scorns to be received a guest, but in 
A noble heart prepared to entertain him. 
Is, by the gross mispriAiiun of weak men. 
Abused and injured. That celetitial fire, 
Which hieroglyphically is described 
In this his bow, his quiver, and his torch, 
First warm'd their bloods, and a^ter gave a name 
To the old heroic spirits : such as Orpheus, 
That drew men, differing little then from beasts, 
To civil government ; or famed Alcides, 
The tyrant-queller, that refused the plain 
And easy path leading to vicious pleasures, 
And ending in a precipice deep as hell. 
To scale the ragged cliff, on whose firm top 
Virtue and HonoCrr, crnwn'dwith wreaths of stars, 
Did sit triumphant. But it will be answer'd, 
(The world decaying in her strength,) that now 
We are not equal to those ancient times. 
And therefore *twere impertinent and tedious 
To cite more precedents of that reverend age, 
But rather to endeavour, as we purpose. 
To give encouragement, by reward, to such 
As with their best nerves imitate that old goodness ; 
And, with severe correction, to reform 
The modem vices. — B^n ; read the bills. 

Peri, Let mine be first, my lord; 'twas first 

Bell, But till my cause be heard, our whole sex 

Off. Back ! keep back, there 1 [suffers — 

Nov. Prithee, gentle ofScer, 
Handle me gingerly, or I fall to pieces, 
Before I can plead mine. 

Peri, 1 am bruised - . • 

OinfiM. Justice! Jnitice! 


Char. Forbear these clamours, you shall all be 
And, to confirm I am no partial judge, [heard : 

By lottery decide it ; here's no favour. 

Wht)sc bill is first, Lafort ? [The names are drauni, 

Laf. 'Tis Cleremond's. 

Char. The second ? 

Laf, Ferigot's ; the third Novairs. 

Nov. Our cases are both lamentable, tutor. 

Peri. A nd 1 am glad they shall be heard together ; 
We cannot stand asunder. 

Char, What's the last ? 

Lnf. The injured lady Bellisant's. 

Char, To the first, then ; 
And so proceed in order. 

Phil, Stand to the bar. [Cum. comes forward. 

Leon, Speak, Cleremond, thy grief, as I will 

Peri, A confident little pleader ! were I in case, 
I would give her a double fee. 

Nov, So would I, tutor. 

Off. Silence ! silence ! 

Cler, Should I rise up to plead my innocence, 
Though, with the favour of the court, I stood 
Acquitted to the world, yea, though the wounds 
Of my dead friend, (which, like so many mouths 
With bloody tongues, cry out aloud against me,) 
By your authority, were closed ; yet here, 
A not to be corrupted judge, my conscience. 
Would not alone condemn me, but infiict 
Such lingering tortures on me, as the hangman, 
Though witty in his malice, could not equal. 
I therefore do confess a guilty cause. 
Touching the fact, and, uncompell'd, acknowledge 
Myself the instrument of a crime the sun. 
Hiding his face in a thick mask of clouds. 
As frighted with the horror, durst not look on. 
But if your laws with greater rigour punish 
Such as invent a mischief, than the organs 
By whom 'tis put in act, (they truly being 
The first great wheels by which the lesser move,) 
Then stand forth, Leonora ; and I'll prove 
The white robe of my innocence tainted with 
But one black spot of guilt, and even that one 
By thy hand cast on me ; but thine, died o'er. 
Ten times in grain, in hell's most ugly colours. 

Leon. The fellow is distracted : see how he 
Now as I live, if detestation of [raves I 

His baseness would but give me leave, I should 
Begin to pity him. 

Cler, Frontless impudence, 
And not to be replied to ! Sir, to you. 
And these subordinate ministers of yourself, 
I turn my speech : to her I do repent 
I e'er vouchsafed a syllable. My birth 
Was noble as 'tis ancient, nor let it relish 
Of arrogance, to say my father's care, 
With curiousness and cost, did train me up 
In all those liberal qualities that commend 
A gentleman : and when the tender down 
Upon my chin told me I was a man, 
I came to court ; there youth, ease, and example, 
First made me feel the pleasing pains of love : 
And there I saw this woman ; saw, and loted her 
With more than common ardour : for that deity, 
(Such our affection makes him,) whose dread 

. . . . the choicest arrow, headed with 
Not loose but loyal flames, which aim'd at me. 
Who came with greedy haste to meet the shaft, 

• • - •ing, that my captive heart was made 

- ------- LoTe's divine artillery, 

• - • - preserved ... no relation. 
But the shot made at her was not, like mine, 
Of gold, nor of pale lead that breeds disdain ; 
Cupid himself disirlainis it : I think rather, 
An by the sequel 'twill appear, tome Fury 

From bum iig Acheron snatch'd a sulphur brand, 
That smoak'd with hate, ihe parent of red murder. 
And threw it in her bosom. Pardon me, 
Though I dwell long upon the cause that did 
Produce such dire effects ; and, to omit. 
For your much patience* sake, the cunning trap 
111 which she caught me, and, with horrid oaths, 
Embark'd me in a sea of human blood, 
1 come to the last scene 

Leon. 'Tis time ; for this 
Grows stale and tedious. 

Cler. When, I say, she had. 
To satisfy her fell rage, as a penance, 
Forced me to this black deed, her vow, too, given, 
That I should marry her, and she conceal me ; 
When to her view I brought the slaugUter'd body 
Of my dear friend, and labour'd with my tears 
To stir compunction in her, aided too 
By the sad object, which might witness for me. 
At what an over- rate 1 had made purchase 
Of her long-wish'd embraces ; then, great sir, — 
But that 1 had a mother, and there may be 
Some two or three of her • . . sex less faulty, 
I should aflSrm she was the perfect image 
Of the devil, her tutor, that had left hell empty, 
To dwell in wicked woman. 

Leon. Do ; rail on. 

Cler, For not alone she gloried in mysniTerings, 
Forswore what she had vow'd, refused to tonch me, 
Much less to comfort ipe, or give me harbour ; 
But, instantly, ere I could re-collect 
My scatter'd sense, betray'd me to your justice, 
Which I submit to ; hopini^, in your wisdom, 
That a«, in me, you lop a limb of murder, 
You will, in her, grub up the root. I have said, sir. 

Leon, Much, I confess, but much to little purpose. 
And. though, with your rhetorical ffourishes, 
You strive to gild a rotten cause, the touch 
Of reason, fortified by truth, deliver'd 
From my unlettered tongue, shall shew it dust ; 
And so to be rontemn'd : You have trimm'd np 
All your deservings, should I grant them such, 
With more eare tJian a maiden of threescore 
Does hide her wrinkles, which, if she encounter 
The rain, the wind, or sun, the paint washM off, 
Are to dim eves discover'd. I forbear 
The application, and in a plain style 
Come roundly to the matter. 'Tis confess'd, 
This pretty, handsome gentleman, (for thieves 
Led to the gallows are held proper men, 
And so I now will call him.) would needs make me 
The mistress of his thoughts ; tior did 1 scorn, 
For truth is truth, to grace him as a servant. 
Nay, he took pretty ways to win me too, 
For a court novice ; every year I was 
His Valentine, and, in an anagram, 
My name worn in his hat ; he made me banqneti, 
As if he thought that ladies, like to flies. 
Were to be caught with sweetmeats ; qnarrell'd 
My tailor, if my gown were not the first [with 
Of that edition ; beat my shoemaker. 
If the least wrinkle on my foot appear'd. 
As wronging the proportion ; and, in timvy 

Grew bolder, usher'd me to masques, and . • • 
Or else paid him that wrote them ; - . • 
With such a deal of p- . - - . . . 
And of good rank, are taken with such gambola : 
In a word, I was so ; and a solemn contract 
Did pass betwixt us ; and the day appointed, 
That should make our embraces warrantable. 
And lawful to the world : all things so carried. 
As he meant nought but honourable love. 

Char. A pretty method. 

Phil, Quaintly, too, deliver'd. 

LeOn. But, when he thought me sore, be then 
gave proof 
That foul lust lurk'd in the fair shape of love ; 
For, valuing neither laws divine, nor human, 
His credit, nor my fame, with violence bom 
On black-sail'd wings of loose and base desires. 
As if his natural parts had quite forsook him, 
And that the pleasures of the marriage bed 
Were to be reap*d with no more ceremony 
Than brate beasts couple, — I yet blush to speak it. 
He tempted me to yield my honour up 
To his Ubidinoos twines ; and. like an atheist. 
Scoffed at the form and orders of the church ; 
Nor ended so, but, being by me reproved. 
He offer'd violence ; but was prevented. 

Char, Note, a sudden chauge. 

J'lf, 'Twas foul in Cleremond. 

Leim, I, burning then with a most virtnons 
Razed from my heart the memory of his name, 
Reviled, and spit at him ; and knew 'twas justice 
That I should take those deities he soom'd. 
Hymen and Cupid, into my protection. 
And be the iostrament of their revenge : 
And so I cast him off, scom'd his submission, 
His poor and childish whinings, will'd my servants 
To shut my gates against him : but, when neither 
Disdain, hate, nor contempt, could free me from 
His loathsome importunities, (and fired too, 
To wreak mine injured honour, ) I took gladly 
Advantage of his execrable oaths 
To undergo what penance I ei^oin'd him ; 
Then, to the terror of all future ribalds. 
That make no difference between love and lust. 
Imposed this task upon him. 1 have said, too : 
Now, when you please, a censure. ^ 

Char, She has put 
The judges to their whisper. 

Nov, What do you think of these proceedings, 

Peri, The troth is, ' [tutor ? 

I like not the severity of the court ; 
Would I were quit, and in an hospital, 
I could let fall my suit I 

Nov, 'Tis still your counsel. 

Char, We are resolved, and with an equal hand 
Will hold the scale of justice ; pity shall not 
Rob us of strength and will to draw her sword, 
Nor passion transport us : let a priest 
And headsman be in readiness ;--do you start. 
To hear them named ? Some little pause we grant 
To take examination of yourselves, lyou. 

What either of you have deserved, and why 
These instraments of our power are now thought 
You shall hear more, anon. [useful : 

CUr, I like not this. iA$UU, 

Leon, A dreadful preparation I I confess 
It shakes my confidence. {4niM. 

Clarin, I presumed this court 
Had been in sport erected ; but now find. 

■cmm i« 



With sorrow to the strongest hopes I built on, 
That 'tis oot safe to be the subject of 
The - • - - of kings 

{New Speaker,) To the second cause. 

Laf. - - - Pengt»t*s. 

Nov, Nay, take me along too ; 
And, since that oar compUiuts differ not much, 
Dispatch us both together. I accuse 
This devilish doctor. 

Peri, 1, this wicked lord. 

Nov, 'Tis known 1 was an able, lostj man, 
Fit to get soldiers to serve my king 
And country in the wars ; and howsoever 
"Us said I am not valiant of myself, 
I was a striker, one that could strike home too ; 
And never did beget a girl, though drunk. 
To make this good, I could produce brave boys, 
That others father, twigs of mine own grafting. 
That loTed a drum at four, and ere full ten. 
Fought battles for the parish they were bom in ; 
And such by-blows, old stories say, still proved 
Fortunate captains : now, whereas, in justice, 
I should have had a pension from the state 
For my good service, this ingrateful doctor, 
Having no child, and never like to have one, 
Because, in pity of his barrenness, 
I plotted how to help him to an heir, 
lias, with a drench, so far disabled me, 
That the great Turk may trust me with his vii^gins, 
\nd never use a surgeon. Now consider. 
If this be not hard measure, and a vrrong to 
Little Dan Cupid, if he be the god 
Of coupling, as 'tis said ; and will undo. 
If you give way to this, all younger brothers 
That carry their revenue in their breeches — 
Hat e I not nick'd it, tutor ? lAtULt to Psat. 

Peri. To a hair, boy : 
Our bills shall pass, ne'er fear it. [^ndir.] — For 
It is the same, sir ; my intent as noble [my case, 
As was my pupil's. 

Cham. Plead it not again, then : 
It takes much from the dignity of the court 
But to give audience to such things as these. 
That do, in their defence, condemn themselves. 
And need not an accuser. To be short, sir, 
And in a language as far from obsceneness. 
As the foul cause will give me leave, be pleased 
To know thus much : Thitf hungry pair of flesh-flies. 
And most inseparable pair of coxcombs. 
Though born of divers mothers, twins in baseness, 
Were frequent at my table, had free welcome 
And entertainment tit for better men ; 
In the return of which, this thankful monsieur 
Tempted my wife, seduced her, at the least 
To him it did appear so ; which discovered. 
And with what treacheries he did abuse 
My bounties, treading underneath his feet 
All due respect of hospiteble rights. 
Or the honour of my family ; though the intent 
Deserved a sUb, and at the holy alter, 
I borrow'd so much of your power to right me. 
As to make him caper. 

Din, For this gallant, sir, 
I do confess I cool'd him, spoil'd his rambling ; 
Would all such as delight in it, were served so ! 
And since you are acquainted with the motives 
That did induce me to it, 1 forbear 
A needless repetition. 

Cham. 'Tis not worth it. 
The criminal judge is fitter to Uke • • - 

Of pleai of this base natore. Be - - • - 
An injured lady, for whose wrong • - • . • 
I see the statue of the god of love 
Drop down tears of compassion, his sad mother. 
And fair-cheek'd Graces, that attend on her, 
Weeping for company, as if that all 
The omamente upon the Paphian shrine 
Were, with one gripe, by sacrilegious hands, 
Tom from the holy alter : 'tis a cause, sir. 
That justly may exact your best attention ; 
Which if you truly understend and censure. 
You not alone shall right the present times, 
But bind posterity to be your debtor. 
Stand forth, dear madam : — 

[BsixiSAirr comes forward. 

Look apon this face. 
Examine every feature and proportion. 
And you with me must grant, this rare piece finish'd, 
Nature, dei$pairing e'er to make the like. 
Brake suddenly the mould in which 'twas fashion*d. 
Yet, to increase your pity, and call on 
Your justice with severity, this fair outside 
Was but the cover of a fairer mind. 
Think, then, what punishment he most deserve. 
And justly suffer, th^t could arm his heart 
With such impenetrable flinty hardness, 
To injure so much sweetness. 

Ciarim, I must stend 
The fury of this tempest, which already 
Sings in my ears. 

Bell, Great sir, the too much praise 
This lord, my guardian once, has shower'd upon me, 
Could not but spring up blushes in my cheeks. 
If grief had left me blood enough to speak 
My humble modesty : and so far I am 
From being litigious, that though I were robb'd 
Of my whole estate, provided my fair name 
Had been unwounded, I had now been silent. 
But since the wrongs I undergo, if smother'd. 
Would injure our whole sex, I must lay by 
My native bashfulness, and put on boldness, 
Fit to encounter with the impudence 
Of this bad man, that from his birth hath been 
So far from nourishing an honest thought. 
That the abuse of virgins was his stody, 
And daily practice. His forsaking of 
His wife, distressed Beaupr^ ; his lewd wager 
With these, companions like himself, to abuse met 
His desperate resolution, in my presence. 
To be his own assassin ; to prevent which. 
Foolish compassion forced me to surrender 
The life of life, my honour, I pass over : 
I'll only touch his foul ingratitude. 
To scourge which monster, if your laws provide not 
A punishment with rigour, they are useless. 
Or if the sword, the gallows, or the wheel. 
Be due to such as spoil us of our goods ; 
Peiillus' brazen hull, the English rack. 
The German pincers, or the Scotch oil'd-boote, 
Though j«»in*d together, yet come short of torture, 
To their full merit, those accursed wretches. 
That steal our reputations, and good names. 
As this base \illain has done mine : — Forgive me, 
If rage provoke mtr to uncivil language; 
The cause requires it. Was it not enough 
Tliut, to preserve thy life, 1 lost my honour, 
. . . • in n cumpensjte of such a gift 
. . . . . publiith it, to my disgrace ? 
- - .... whose means, unfortunate I, 
Whom, but of late, the city, nay, all France, 



^trr r 


Durst bring in opposition for chaste life, 
With any woman in the Christian worid. 
Am now become a bv-word, and a soom, 
In mine own coantry. 

Char, As I live, she mores me. 
Is this true, Clarindore ? 

Nov. Oh ! 'tis very true, sir ; 
He bragg*d of it to me. 

Peri, And me. 
Nay, since we must be censured, well g;ive evi- 
dence ; 
'Tis comfort to have fellows in affliction : 
You shall not *scape, fine monsieur. 

Clarin. Peace, you dog-bolts ! — 
Sir, 1 address mys<'lf to you, and hope 
You have preserved one ear for my defence, 
The other freely given to my accuser : 
This lady, that complains of injury, 
If she have any, was hers<>lf the cause 
That brought it to her ; for bring young, and rich. 
And fair too, as you see, and from that proud. 
She boasted of h^r strength, as if it were not 
In the power of love to undermine the 'ort 
On which her chastity was strongly raised : 
I. that was bred a courtier, and served 
Almost my whole life under Cupid's ensigns. 
Could not, in justice, but interpret this 
As an affront to the great god of love. 
And all his followers, if she were not brought 
To due obedience : these strong reasons, sir. 
Made me to undertake her. How I woo'd, 
Or what I swore, it skills not ; (since 'tis said. 
And truly. Jupiter and Venus smile 
At lovers' perjuries ;) to be brief, she yielded, 
And I enjoy'dlierr if this be a crime. 
And all such as offend this pleasant way 
Are to be punishM, 1 am sure you would have 
Few followers in the court : yon are young your- 
self, sir, 
And what would you in such a cause ? 

Laf, Forbear. 

Phil. You are rude and insolent. 

Clarin, Good words, gentle judges. 
I have no oil'd tongue ; aud 1 hope my bluntness 
Will not offend. 

Char, But did you boast your conquest 
Got on this lady ? 

Clarin. After victory ; 
A little glory in a soldier's mouth 
Is not uncomely ; love being a kind of war too : 
And what I did achieve, was full of labour 
As his that wins strong towns, and merits triumphs. 
I thought it could not but take from my honour, 
(Besides the wager of three thousand crowns 
Made sure by her confession of my service,) 
If it had been conceal 'd. 

Char, Who would have thought 
Tliat such an impudence could e'er have harbour 
In the heart of any gentleman ? In this. 
Thou dost degrade thyself of all the honours 
Thy ancestors left thee, and, in thy base nature, 
'Tis too apparent that thou art a peasant. 
Boast of 1 lady's favours ! this confirms 
Thou art the captain of that - - - - 
That glory in their sins, and . - - - - 
With name of courtship ; such as dare bely 
Great women's bountifs, and repuls'd and scorn'd, 
Commit adultery with their good names, 
And never touch their persons. I am sorry, 
For your sake, madam, that I cannot make 

Such reparation for you in your honour 

As I desire ; for, if I should compel him 

To marry you, it were to him a blessing. 

To you a punishment ; he being so unworthj : 

I therefore do resign my place to 3rou ; 

Be your own judge ; whatever you shall determine, 

By my crown, I'll see perform'd. 

Clarin, I am in a fine case. 
To stand at a woman's mercy. lAsidt, 

Bell. Then thus, sir : 
I am not bloody, nor bent to revenge ; 
And study his amendment, not his ruin : 
Yet, since you have given up your power to me. 
For punii*hment, I do enjoin him to 
Marry this Moor. 

Clarin. A devil ! hang me rather. 

Char. It is not to be alter *d. 

Clarin. This is cruelty 
Beyond expression, . - I have a wife. 

Cham, Ay, too.good for thee. View her well. 
And then, this vami.<(h from her face wash'd off, 
l^hou shalt find Beaupr^. 

Clarin, Beaupre ! 

BelL Yes, his wife, sir. 
But long by him with violence cast off: 
And in this shape she served me ; all my studies 
Aiming to make a fair atonement for her, 
To which your majesty may now constrain him. 

Clarin. It needs not : I receive her, and ask 
Of her and you. [pardon 

Bell, On both our parts 'tis granted. 
This was your bedfellow, and fiU'd your arms. 
When you thought you embraced me : I am yet 
A vii^n ; nor had ever given consent, 
In my chaste house, to such a wanton pns5tage, 
But that I knew thatr her desires were lawful. — 
But now no more of personated passion . 
This is the man I loved, [pointing to the lner.'\ that 

1 loved truly. 
However I dissembled ; and, with him. 
Dies all affection in me. So, great sir. 
Resume your seat. 

Char. An unexpected issue. 
\N hich I rejoice in. Would 'twere in our power 
To give a period to the rest, like this, 
And spare our heavy censure ! but the death 
Of good Montrose forbids it. Cleremond, 
Thou instantly shall marry Leonora ; 
Which done, as suddenly thy head cut off. 
And corpse interr'd, u|)on thy grave I'll build 
A room of eight feet square, in which this lady. 
For punishment of her cruelty, shall die 
An anchoress. 

Leon. 1 do repent, and rather 
Wii! marry him, and forgife iiim. 

Clarin, Bind her to 
Her word, great sir ; Montrose lives ; this a plot 
To catch this obstinate lady. 

Leon, I am glad 
To be so cheated. 

Mont, [rues from the hier.'] - - - lady, 
- - - • - - deceived ; do not repent 
Your good opinion of me when thought dead. 
Nor let not my neglect to wait upon you. 
Considering what a business of import 
Diverted me, be thought unpardonable. 

Bell, For my part 'tis forgiven ; and thus I seal 

Char. Nor are we averse 
To your desfires ; may you live long, and happy ! 




\m . Mercj to as, great sir. 

Peri. We will become 
Qiaste and reform'd men. 

Chnm. and Din, We both are soitorSy 
On this sabraission, for your pardon, sir. 

Cfiar, Which we in part will grant: bat, to deter 
Others, bj their example, from pursuing 
Unlawful lusts, that think adultery 
A sport to be oft practised ; fix on them 
Two satjrrs* heads ; and so, in capital letters 
Their foul intents writ on tiieir breasts, we'll haTe 

Led thrice through Paris; then, at the oMin 


To stand three hours, where Clarindore shall make 
I His recantation for the injury 
Doije to the lady Bellisant ; and read 
A sharp invective, ending with a curse 
Against all such as boast of ladie*s favours : 
Which done, both truly penitent, my doctor 
Shall use his best art to Restore your strength. 

And render Perigot a perfect man. 

So break we up Lots^s Paauamkht, which, we 

B€infffor mirih inUmded, thall noi meet with 
An ill ewuiruotiim ; and if then, fair iadie*, 
VoH pleaa^ to approve it, we hope pau*tl invite 
Vtiur frienda to ^e it ^ften^ with delight, LBxeunt. 









H«vw much I fteknowledge mynlf bound for your ao many, and extraordinary faTOun o mif ei i c d upon ina, aa far 
■a It it in my power, poaterity thall take notice : I were most imworthy of aoch noble fHenda, if I ahoold not, with all 
thankfUInen, profen and own them. In the composition of this Trairedy you were my only supporters, and it being 
now by your principal cnoonragement to be turned into tlie world, it cannot wallc safer than undo* your protecti «. 
It hath beni happy in the suArage of some learned and Judicious gentlemen when it was presented, nor shall they find 
cause, I hope, in the pems^, to repent them of their good opinion of it. If the gravity and height of the subject 
distaste such as are <mly affectad with Jigs and ribaldry, (as I presume it will.) their condemnation of me and my poem, 
can no way offend me: my reason teaching me, such malicious and ignorant detractors deserve rather contempt than 
•atisfaetion. I ever hdd it the most perfect birth of my Minerva ; and therefore in Justice offer it to those tliat hava 
beat deserved uf me ; who. I hope, in their courteotis acceptance will render it worth their receiving, and ever, in their 
gentle construction of my imperfections, believe th^r may at their pleasure diqioae of liim, tliat is wholly and slncenij 

iMvuted to their service, Phiup MAasii 


DomnAivua Casar. 
pAKia, the Roman Actor. 
JElios Lamia, \ 

PAtFHuaius Sua*, i fi^"*'*^'- 


Parthknius, Cesar's Freedman. 
ARSTfWUa, CfltSAR'S Spsf. 
*8ticfhanob, DoMiTiuji's Fretdman, 

LAT.NUS. \ P^'f'"- 

pHOAaoua, a rich Miter .- Father to pAarttRNifK. 

AscLKTARio, an Aitrotoffer, 

PoMiTiA, Wi/e qfMutm Lamia. 
DoMtTiLLA, Covsin-Oerman to C. 
Jklia, Daughter t(f Tmn. 
C.f^NrH, VasPAsiAX'i Concubtne, 
A Lady. 

Tribunes, Llctoni. Centurions, Soldlan. 
nii'ii. Servants, C^tivea. 




SCENE h-^Ths Theairt. 

Enter Paris, LATnrtm, amd JEmowv, 

if?M>p. What do we act to-ilaj ? 

Lat. Agave'i freniy, 
With Penthena' bloody end. 

Par. It skills not what ; 
The times are dull, and all that we receiTe 
^ 14. hardly satisfy the day's expense. 

The Greeks, to whom we owe the tint invendon 

Both of the buskin'd scene, and humble sock» 

That reig:n in every noble fkmily. 

Declaim against us ; and onr theatre. 

Great Pompey's work, that hath given full delight 

Both to the eye and ear of fifty thousand 

Spectators in one day, as if it were 

Some unknown desart, or great Rome unpeopled* 

It qnite ionakeBu 




Lot. Pleasures of worse natures 
Are f^ladly eatertained ; and thc7 that shun us, 
Practise, in private, sports the stews would blush 
A litter bom by eight Libumian slaves, [at. 

To buy diseases from a glorious strumpet. 
The most censorious of our Roman gentry, 
Nay, of the garded robe, the senators, 
Esteem an easy purchase. 

Par, Yet grudge us, 
That with delight join profit, and endeavour 
To build their minds up fair, and on the stage 
Decipher to the life what honours wait 
On good and glorious actions, and the shame 
That treads upon the heels of vice, the salary 
Of six seiiertii, 

jEsop. For the profit, Paris, 
And mercenary gain, they are things beneath us ; 
Since, while you hold your grace and power with 

We, from your bounty, find a Urge supply, 
Nor can one thought of want ever approach us. 

Par, Our aim is glory, and to leave our names 
To aftertime. 

Lat, Andy would they give uii leave. 
There ends all our ambition. 

jEsop, We have enemies. 
And great ones too, I fear. 'Tis given oat lately. 
The consul Aretinus, Csesar's spy, 
Said at his table, ere ■ month expired. 
For being gall'd in our last comcMly, 
He'd silence us for ever. 

Par. I expect 
No favour from him ; my strong Aventine is. 
That great Domitian, whom we oft have cheer'd 
In his most sullen moods, will once return. 
Who r-an repair, with ease, the consul's ruins. 

Lat. 'Tis frequent in the city, he hath subdued 
The Catti and the Daci, and, ere long, 
The second time will enter Rome in triumph. 

Enter two Lietors. 

Par. Jove hapten it ! With us ? — I now believe 
The ronsiiI'M threats, vEsopus. 

I Lict. You are summon'd 
To ap|)ear to day in senate. 

'2 Lict. And there to answer 
Whit shall be urged against you. 

Par, We obey you 
Nay, droop not, fellows ; innocence should be bold. 
We, that have personated in the scene 
The ancient heroes, and the fulls of princes, 
With loud applause ; being to act ourselves, 
Must do it with undaunted confidence. 
Whate'rr our sentence be, think 'tis in sport : 
And, though eondeinn'd, let's hear it without sor- 
As if we were to live agnin to-morrow. [row, 

1 Lict. 'Tis spoken like yourself. 

Enter Muxm Iumia, Juniits Ruoticus, and PALraumios 


Lam. Whither goes Par s ? 

1 Lict. He's cited to the senate. 

Lai. 1 am glad the state is 
8o free from maters of more weight and trouble. 
That it ha« vacant time to look on us. 

Par. That reverend place, in which the affairs of 
And provinces were determined, to descend [kings 
To the censure of a bitter word, or jest, 
Dropp'd from a }>oet'M pen! Peace to your lord - 
We arc glail that you are safe. [tthipii ! 

{Exeunt LicTORii, Paris, LATiitus, and iEaopra. 

Lam. What times are thew ! 
To what 's Rome fiidlen ! may we, being alone, 
Speak our thoughts freely of the prince and state. 
And not fear the informer ? 

Rust, Noble I^amia, 
So dangerous the age is, and such bad acts 
Are practised everywhere, we hardly sleep. 
Nay, cannot dream with safety. All our actions 
Are call 'd in question ; to be nobly bom 
Im now a crime; and to deserve too well, 
Held capital treason. Sons accuse their fathers, 
Fathers their sons ; and, but to win a smile 
From one in grace at court, our chastest matrons 
Make shipwreck of their honours. To be virtuous 
U to be guilty. They are only safe 
That know to sooth the priuce*8 appetite. 
And serve his lusts. 

Sura, 'Tis trae ; snd 'tis my wonder, 
That two sons of so different a nature 
Should spring from good Vespasian. We had a 

StyPd, justly, ** the Delight of aU Mankind,'' 
Who did esteem that day lost in his life, 
In which some one or other tasted not 
Of his magnificent bounties. One that had 
A ready tear, when he was forced to sign 
The death of an offender : and so far 
From pride, that he disdain'd not the converse 
Even of the poorest Roman. 

Lam, Yet his brother, 
Domitian, that now sways the power of things. 
Is so inclined to blood, that no day passes 
In which some are not fasten'd to the hook. 
Or thrown down from the Gemonies. His fV'eed- 
Scorn the nobility, and he himself, [men 

As if he were not made of flesh and blood, 
Forgets he is a msn. 

Rust. In his young years, 
He shew'd what he would be when grown to ripe- 
His greatest pleasure was, being a child, [ness . 
With a sharp-pointed bodkin to kill flies. 
Whose rooms now men supply. For his escape 
In the Vitellian war, he raised ■ temple 
To Jupiter, and proudly placed his figure 
In the bosom of the god : and, in his edicts, 
He does not blush, or start, to style himself 
(As if the name of emperor were base) 
Great Lord and Gnd Domitian. 

Sura. I have letters 
He's on his way to Rome, and purposes 
To enter with all glory. The flattering senate 
Decrees him divine honours ; and to cross it, 
Were death with studied torments :— for my part, 
I will obey the time ; it is in vain 
To strive against the torrent. 

Rust. Let's to the curia. 
And, though unwillingly, give our suffrages. 
Before we are compell'd. 

Lam. And since we cannot 
With safety use the active, let's make use of 
Tiie pastiive fortitude, with this assurance, 
That the state, sick in him, the gods to fnend, 
Tliough at the worst, will now begin to mend. 


SCENE IT.— .-I Room in Lamia's House, 

E.ttrr DiiMtTiA and pARTHKNiini. 
Pom. To n»e t!»is reve.cuce I 
Parih. I pay it, lady, j^ 




As a debt dne ro her fhit'5 C«8^r*8 mistress : 
For understand with joy, he that cuinniaiids 
All that the sun criveA warmth to, is your scnrant ; 
Be not amazed, but tit you to your fortunes. 
Think upon state and greatness, and the honours 
That wait upon Augusta, for that name, 
Ere long, comes to you : — still you doubt your 
Taasal — [PresfMtt a LetU-r. 

But, when youWe read this letter, writ and sign'd 
With his imperial hand, you will be freed 
From fear and jealousy ; and, I beseech you. 
When all the beauties of the earth bow to you, 
And senators shall take it for an honour. 
As I do now, to kiss these happy feet ; [irnee/«. 
When every smile you give is a preferment. 
And you dispose of provinces to your creatures, 
Think on Parthenius. 

Dom^ Rise. 1 am transported. 
And hardly dare believe what is assured here. 
The means, my good Parthenius, that wrought 
Our god on earth, to cast an eye of favour [Csesar, 
Upon his humble handmaid } 

Parth, What, but your beauty ? 
When nature framed you for her masterpiece, 
As the pure abstract of all rare in woman, 
She had no other ends but to design ynu 
To the most eminent place. I will not say 
(For it would smell of arrogance, to insinuate 
The service I have done you) with what zeal 
I oft have made relation of your virtues. 
Or how JVe sung your goodness, or how Cesar 
Was tired with the relation of your story : 
I am rewarded in the act, and happy 
In that my project prosper'd. 

Dom, You are modest : 
And were it in my power, I woald be thaiikfuL 
If that, when I was mistress of myself. 
And, in my way of youth, pure and untainted. 
The emperor had vouchsafed to seek my favours, 
I had with joy given up my virgin fort. 
At the first summons, to his soft embraces : 
But I am now another's, not mine own. 
You know I have a husband : — for my honour, 
1 would not be his strumpet ; and how law 
Can be dispensed with to become his wife, 
To me*s a riddle. 

Parth. I can soon resolve it : 
When power puts in his plea the laws are silenced. 
The world confesses one Rome, and one Cesar, 
And as his rule is infinite, his pleasures 
Are unconfined ; this syllable, his wUl, 
Stands for a thousand reasons. 

Dom, But with safety, 
Suppose I should consent, how can I do it ? 
My husband is a senaror, of a temper 
Not to be jested with. 

Enter Lamu. 

parth. As if he durst 
Be Cesar's rival ! — here he comes *, with ease 
1 will reuinve this scruple. 

Lam. How ! so private ! 
My uwn house made a brothel ! [Ande."] — Sir, 

huw durst yon, 
l*hough guarded with your power in court, and 

Hold conference with my wife ? As for you, minion, 
I shall hereafter treat 

Partk. Yon are rude and saucy 
Nor know to whom jou speak. 

Lam. This is fine, i'faith ! 
Is she not my wife ? 

Parth. Your wife I But touch her, that respect 
That's due to her whom mightiest Cesar favours. 
And think what 'tis to die. Not to lose time, 
She's Cesar's choice : it is sufficient honour 
You were his taster in this heavenly nectar ; 
But now must quit the office. 

Lam. This is rare ! 
Cannot a man be master of his wife 
Because she's young and fair, without a patent ? 
I in my own house am an emperor. 
And will defend what's mine. Where are my 

knaves ? 
If such an insolence escape unpunish'd 

Parth. In yourself. Lamia. — Cesar hath for^t 
To use his power, and I, his instrument. 
In whom, though absent, his authority speaks. 
Have lost my faculties 1 IstampB 

Enter a Centurion leith 8oldi4>rs. 

Lam. The guard ! why, am I 
Design*d for death ? 

Dom. As you desire my favour, 
Take not so rough a course. 

Parth. All your desires 
Are absolute commands : Yet give me leave 
To put the will of Cesar into act. 
Here's ;» bill of divorce between your lordship 
And this great lady : if you refuse to sign it, 
And so as if you did it uncompell'd, 
Won to*t by reasons that concern yourself. 
Her honour too untainted, here are clerks. 
Shall in your best blood write it new, till torture 
Compel you to perform it. 

Lam. Is this legal ? 

Parth. Monarchs that dare not do unlawf a! 
Yet bear them out, are constables, not kings. 
Will you dispute ? 

Lam. I know not what to urge 
Against myself, but too much dotage on her. 
Love, and observance. 

Parth. Set it under your hand. 
That you are impotent, and cannot pay 
The duties of a husband ; or, that you are mad ; 
Rather than want just cause, we'll make you m>. 
Dispatch, you know the danger else ; — deliver it, 
Nay, on your knee. — Madam, you now are fiee. 
And mistress of yourself. 

Lam. Can you, Domitia, 
Consent to this ? 

Dom. 'Twould argue a base mind 
To live a servant, when I may command. 
I now am Cesar's : and yet, in respect 
I once was yours, when you com<^ to the palace, 
Prorided you deserve it in your service. 
You shall find me your good mistress. Wait me. 
And now farewell, poor Lamia ! [ParMienius ; 

lExeunt all but Lamia. 

Lam. To the gods 
I bend my knees, (for tyranny hath banish 'd 
Justice from men,) and as they would deser\'c 
Their altars, and our vows, humbly invoke them. 
That this my ravish'd wife may prove as fatal 
To proud Domitian, and her embraces 
Afford him, in the end, as little joy 
Ai wanton Helen broui^ht to him of Troy f [jrjr^C 




SCENE III. — The Curia or Sennte'hoiue. 

Llctora, ARKTTiruB, Futx:iNa78. Rdstici'h, SuitA, 
Pajus. Latini's, and JEbofim. 

Arei, Fkdiers cooacript, may this our meeting 
Happy to Caesar and the oommon wealth ! [be 

Liet, Silence ! 

AreL The purpose of this freqaent senate 
la, first, to give Uianks to the gods of Kome» 
That, for the propagation of the empire, 
Vouchsafe us one to govern it, like themselves. 
In height of courage, depth of undenitaoding, 
And a'l those virtues, and remarkable graces, 
Which make a prince most eminent, our Domitian 
Transcends the ancient Romans : 1 C4in never 
Bring his praise to a period. What good man, 
That is a friend to truth, dares make it doubtful, 
That he hath Pabius' staidness, and the courage 
Of bold Marcellus, to whom Hannibal gave 
The atyle of Target, and the Sword of Rome ? 
Bat he has more, and every touch more Roman ; 
As Pompey*s dignity, Augustus' state, 
Antony's bounty, and great Julius' fortune, 
With Cato's resolution. I am lost 
In the ocean of his virtues : in a word, 
All excellencies of good men meet in him, 
But no part of their vices. 

Runt. This is no flattery ! 

Sura. Take heed, you'll be observed. 

Arei. Tis then most fit 
That we, (as to the father of our country, 
Like thankful sons, stand bound to pay true service 
For all those blessings that he showers ufton us,) 
Should not connive, and see his government 
Depraved and scandalized by meaner men, 
l^hiit to his favour and indulgence owe 
Themsdves and being. 

I'ar. Now he points at us. 

A ret. Cite Paris, the tragedian. 

Par. Here. 

Arei. Stand forth. 
In thee, as being the chief of thy profession, 
I do accuse the quality of treason, 
As libellers against the state and Cssar. 

Par. Mere accuoat ions are not proofs my lord; 
In what are we delinquents? 

Arei. Yoa are they 
That search into the secrets of the time. 
And, under feign'd names, on the stage, present 
Actions not to be touch'd at ; and traduce 
Persons of rank and quality of both ^exes. 
And, with satirical and bitter jeats. 
Make even the senators ridiculous 
To the plebeians. 

Par. If I free not myself. 
And, in nivself, the rest (»f my profession. 
From these false imputations, nnd pro\e 
That they make that a libel which the poet 
Writ for a comedy, so acted too ; 
It is but justice that we undergo 
The heaviest cenaure. 

Arei. Are you on the stage, 
You ulk so boldly ? 

Par. The whole world being one, 
This place is not exempted ; and I am 
So confident in the justice of our cause. 
That I could wish Ciesar, in whose great name 
AU kings are comprehended, sat as judge. 
To hear oar plea, and then determine of oa.— 

If. to express a man sold to his lusts, 
WaMiing the treasure of his time and fortunes 
In wanton dalliance, and to what sad end 
A wretch that^s so given over does arrive at ; 
Deterring careless youth, by his example. 
From such licentious courses ; laying open 
The snares of bawds, and the consuming arts 
Of prodigal strumpets, can deserve reproof ; 
Why are not all your golden principles, 
Writ down by grave philosophers to instruct as 
To choose fair virtue for our guide, not pleasure. 
Condemned unto the fire ? 
Sura, There's spirit in this. 
Par. Or if desire of honour was the base 
On which the building of the Roman empire 
Was raised up to this height ; if, to inflame 
The noble youth with an ambitious heat 
T' endure the frosts of danger, nay, of death, 
To be thought worthy the triumphal wreath 
By glorious undertakings, may deserve 
Reward, or favour, from the commonwealth ; 
Actors may put in for as large a share 
As all the sects of the philosophers : 
They with cold precepts (perhaps seldom read) 
Deliver, what an honourable thing 
The active virtue is : but does that fire 
The blood, or swell the veins with emulation. 
To be both good and great, equal to that 
Which is presented on our theatres t 
Let a good actor, in a lofty scene. 
Shew great Alddes honour'd in the sweat 
Of his twelve labours ; or a bold Camillas, 
Forbidding Rome to be redeem 'd with gold 
From the insulting Gauls ; or Scipio, 
After his victories, imposing tribute 
On conquer' d Carthage : if done to the life. 
As if they saw their dangers, and their glories, 
And did partake with them in their rewards. 
All that have any spark of Roman in them, 
The slothful arts laid by, contend to be 
Like those they see presented. 

Rati. He has put 
The consuls to their whisper. 

Par. But, 'tis urged 
That we corrupt youth, and traduce superiors. 
When do we bring a vice upon the stage. 
That does go off unpunish'd ? Do we tTeach, 
By the success of wicked undertakings, 
Others to tread in their forbidden steps ? 
We shew no arts of Lydian panderism, 
Corinthian poisons, Persian flatteries. 
But mulcted so in the conclusion, that 
Even those spectators that were so inclined. 
Go home changed men. And, for traducing such 
That are above us, publishing to the world 

I Their secret crimes, we are as innocent 
As such as are bnm dumb. \\ hen we present 

I An heir, that does conspire acainst the lite 
Of his dear parent, nnmberiog every hour 
He lives, as tedious to him ; if there be. 
Among the auditors, one whose conscience tells 

He is of the same mould, — wb cannot hklp it. 
Or, bringing on the stage a loose adulteress, 
That does maintain the riotous expense 
Of him that feeds her greedy lust, yet suffers 
The lawful pledges of a former bed 
To starve the while for hunger ; if a matron, 
However great in fortune, birth, or titles, 
Guilty of such a foul unnatural lin. i, 2 




Cry out, *Ti8 writ for me, — wb cannot help it. 
Or, when a covetous niairzirxpri'ss'd, wlii)>r wedtU 
Aricbmetic cannot number, and whose loicUliipd 
A t'aloon in one day cannut fly over ; 
Yet he so sordid in his mind, ^u griping, 
As not to afford himself the necessaries 
To maintain life ; if a patrician* 
(Thoogh honour'd with a consulship.) find himself 
Touch'd to the quick in this, — wb cannot hklp 
Or,* when we show a judge that is corrupt, [it. 
And will gif e up his sentence, as he favours 
The person, not the cause ; saving the guilty. 
If of his faction, and as oft condemning 
The innocent, out of particular spleen ; 
If any in this reverend assembly. 
Nay, even yourself, my lord, that are the image 
Of absent Csesar, feel something in your bosom, 
That puts yon in remembrance of things past. 
Or things intended, ~ 'tis not in us to help it. 
I have said, my lord : and now, as you find cause. 
Or censure us, or free us with applause. 

Lai, Well pleaded, on my life ! I never saw him 
Act an orator s part before. 

./Esop. We might have given 
Ten double fees to Regulus, and yet 
Onr cause delivered worse. lA ihaut wUMm, 

Enter VAKTummn, 

Arei. What shout is that? 

Parth. Cfesar, onr lord, married to conquest, la 
Retum'd in triumph. 

Ful, Let's all haste to meet him. 

Aret. Break up the court ; we will reserve to 
The censure of this cause. [him 

All. Long life to Cciar I iSxtutU. 

SCENE IV.^Tke approach to tho CapUoL 
Enter Jvua, Cjams, DourrnuLA, and Domtiia. 

C^mU. Stand back — the place is mine. 

Jul, Yours ! Am I not 
Great Titus* daughter, and Domitian'i niece ? 
Dares any claim precedence ? 

Cmnia. I was more : 
The mistress of your father, and, in his right, 
Claim duty from you. 

Jul, 1 confess, you were useful 
To please his appetite. 

Dom, To end the controversy. 
For ru have no contending, Til be bold 
To*lead the way myself. 

DomitU. You, minion ! 

Dom. Yes; 
And all, ere long, shall kneel to catch my favours. 

JuL Whence springs this flood of greatness ? 

Dom. You shall know 
Too soon, for your vexation, and perhaps 
Repent too late, and pine with envy, when 
You see whom Csesar favours. 

Jul, Observe the sequeL 

Enter Captains Ufitk laureU^ DoMiriAjr in hit triumj^ant 
ckarioL. PAJtmavics. Pabib, Lativus, and JEaorv9, met 
bp Arbtuci-s. Bura, Lajiia, Boancm, Fuuuxius, Sol- 
dier* atut Captives. 

C<rs. As we now touch the height of human 
Riding in triumph to the capatol, [gloryt 

litt these, whom this victorious arm hath made 
The scorn of fortune, and the slaves of Rome, 
Taste the extremes of misery. Bear them off 

To the common prisons, and there let them prove 
How sharp our ajtcd are. 

rjExTMNf Soldksre wUk CaptivM. 

Rttst. A bloody entrance ! lA*fU. 

Cas, Tu tell you you are happy in your prince. 
Were to distrust your love, or my desert ; 
And either were distasteful : or to bo'tst 
How much, not by my deputies, but myself, 
I have enlarged the empire ; or what horrors 
The soldier, in our conduct, hatli broke through. 
Would better suit the mouth of Plautus' braggart. 
Than the adored monarch of the world. 

Sura. This is no boost I lAtide, 

Cms. When I but name the Daci, 
And gray-eyed Germans, whom I have subdued. 
The ghost of Julius will look pale with envy, 
And great Vespasian's and Titus' triumph, 
(Truth must take place of father and of brother,) 
Will be no more remember'd. 1 am ab<)ve 
All honours you can give me : and the style 
Of Lord and God, which thankful subjects give nie. 
Not my ambition, is deserved. 

Aret, At all parts 
Celestial sacrifice is fit for Cksst, 
In our acknowle<lgment. 

Cms, Thanks, Aretinus; 
Still hold our favour. Now, the god of war. 
And femine, blood, and death, Belhma's pages, 
Banish'd from Rome to Thrace, in our good for- 
With justice he may taste the fruits of peace. 
Whose sword hath plough'd the ground, and reap'd 

the harvest 
Of your prosperity. Nor can I think 
That there is one among you so ungrateful, 
Or such an enemy to thriving virtue. 
That can esteem the jewel he holds dearest. 
Too good for Caesar's use. 

Sura. All we possess — 

Lam, Our liberties — 

Ful, Our children — 

Par. Wealth— 

Arei, And throats. 
Fall willingly beneath his feet. 

Rusi. Base flattery ! 
\^liat Roman can endure this ! lAsnl€. 

Com, This calls on 
My love to all, which spreads itself among you. 
The beauties of the time ! [Seeiny the ladie9.'\ 

Receive the honour 
To kiss the hand which, reai'd up thus, holds 
To you 'tis an assurance of a calm. [thunder ; 

Julia, my niece, and Csenis, the delight 
Of old Vespasian ; Domitilla, too, 
A princess of our blood. 

Ru»t, 'Tis strange his pride 
Affords no greater courtesy to ladies 
Of such high birth and rank. 

Sura, Your wife's foi^tten. 

Lam, No, she will be remember'd, fear it not ; 
She will be graced, and greased. 

Cets. But, when 1 look on 
Divine Domitia, niethiuks we should meet 
(The lesser gods applauding the encounter) 
As Jupiter, tlieOmnts lying dead 
On the Phlegrseun plain, embraced his Juno. 
Lamia, it is your honour that she's mine. 

Lam, You are too great to be gainsaid. 

Cm9, I^t all 
That feat our frown, or do affect our favour. 




\Vit!iout examining the reason why, 
Salute her (by this kisa I make it good) 
With the title of Augusta. 

Dom. Still your senraut. 

All. Long live Augusta, great Domitian's em- 

C<Bn. Paris, my haod. [press! 

Par, [kissing t/.] The gods still honour CaE*sar ! 

Cms. The wars are ended, and, our arms laid by, 
We are for soft delights. Command the poets 

To use their choicest and most rare invention, 
To entertain the time, and be you careful 
To give it action : we^ll provide the people 
Pleasures of all kinds. — My Domitia, think not 
1 flatter, though thus fond. — On to the capitol : 
'Tis death to him that wears a sullen brow. 
This 'tis to be a monarch, when alone 
He can command all, but is awed by none. 



SCENE l.—A State Room in the Palace, 

Enter pHiLAROtn in rags, and pARTHUfiim. 

PhU. My son to tutor me ! Know your obedience. 
And question not my will. 

Parlh, Sir, were I one, 
Whom want compelled to wish a full possession 
Of what is yours ; or had I ever numberM 
Your years, or thought you lived too long, with 

You then might nourish iU opinions of me : 
Or did the suit that I prefer to you 
Concern myself, and aim'd not at your good. 
You might deny, and I sit down with patience, 
And after never press you. 

PkiL In the name of Pluto, 
What would'st thou have me do ? 

Parth, Right to yourself ; 
Or suffer me to do it. Can you imagine 
Tliis nasty hat, this tatter'd cloak, rent shoe, 
This sordid linen, can become the master 
Of your fair fortunes ? whose superfluous means. 
Though I were burthensome, could clothe you in 
The costliest Persian silks, studded with jewels. 
The spoils of provinces, and every day 
Fre«h change of Tynan purple. 

PhU. Out upon thee ! 
My monies in my coffers melt to hear thee. 
Purple ! hence, prodigal 1 Shall 1 make my mercer, 
Or tailor heir, or see my jeweller purchase ? 
No, 1 hste pride. 

Parth. \cX decency would do well. 
Though, for your ouuide, you will not be alter'd, 
Let me prevail so far yet, as to win you 
Not to deny your belly nourishment ; 
Neither to think you've feasted, when 'tis cramm'd 
With mouldy barley-bread, onions and leeks, 
And the drink of bondmen, water. 

Phil. W^ouldst thou have me 
Be an Apicius, or a Lucullus, 
And riot out my state in curious sauces ? 
Wise nature with a little is contented ; 
And, following her, my guide, I cannot err. 

Parth. But you destroy her in your want of care 
(I blush to see, and »peak it) to maintain her 
In perfect health and vigour ; when you suffer. 
Frighted with the charge of physic, rheums. 

The scurf, ach in your bones, to grow upon you. 
And hasten on your fate with too much sparing : 
When a cheap purge, a vomit, and good diet, 
May lengthen it. Give me but leave to send 
The emperor's doctor to you. 

PhU, I'll be borne first, 
Half-rotten, to the fire that most consume me I 

His pills, his cordials, his electuaries, 
His syrups, julaps, baoar stone, nor hit 
Imagined unicorn's horn, comes in my belly; 
My mouth shall be a draught first, 'tis resolved. 
No ; I'll not lessen my dear golden heap, 
Which, every hour increasing, does renew 
My youth and vigor; bat, if lessen'd, then, 
Then my poor heart-strings crack. Let me enjoy it, 
And brood o'er't, while I live, it being my life, 
My souL, my all : but when I turn to dost. 
And part from what is more esteem'd, by me, 
Tjian all the gods Rome's thousand altars smoke to, 
Inherit thou my adoration of it, 
And, like me, serve my idol. iBxit, 

Parth, What ■ strange torture 
Is avarice to itself ! what man, that looks on 
Such a penurious spectacle, but must 
Know what the fable meant of Tantalus, 
Or the ass whose back is crack'd with curious 

Yet feeds on thistles. Some course I most take, 
To make mv father know what cruelty 
He uses on himself. 

Enter Pabis. 

Par, Sir, with your pardon, 
I make bold to enquire the emperor's pleasure ; 
For, being by him commanded to attend. 
Your favour may instruct us what's bis will 
Shall be this night presented. 

Parth, My loved Paris, 
Without my intercession, yon well know. 
You may make your own approaches, since bis ear 
To you is ever open. 

Pur, I acknowledge 
His clemency to my weakness, and, if ever 
I 4p abuse it, lightning strike me dead ! 
The grace he pleases to confer upon me, 
(Witiiuut boa«t 1 may say so much,) was never 
Eni|iloy'd to wrong the innocent, or to incense 
Hi* tury. 

Parth. 'Tis confess' d : many men owe you 
For provinces they ne'er hoped for; and their livcty 
Forfeited to his anger :— -you being absent^ 
1 coiihl t»ay more. 

Pur. You still are my good patron ; 
And, lay it in my fortune to deserve it, 
Vuu should perceive the poorest of yoor dients 
To his best abilities thankfuL 

Parth, I believe so. 
Met you my father / 

Par, Yes, sir, with much grief» 
To see him as he is. Can nothing work Mni 
To be himself? 

Parth. O. Paris, *tis a weight 




Sits heary here ; and could this right hand's loss 
RemoTe it, it should off: bat he is deaf 
To all persuasion. 

Par, Sir, with your pardon, 
ril offer my advice : I once observed, 
In a tragedy of ours, in which a murder 
Was acted to the life, a guilty hearer, 
Forced by the terror of a wounded conscience, 
To make discovery of that which torture 
Could not wring from him. Nor can it appear 
Like an impossibility, but that 
Your father, looking on a covetous man 
Presented on the stage, as in a mirror. 
May see his own deformity, and loath it. 
Now, could you but i>er8uade the emperor 
To see a comedy we have, tbat'i» styled 
The Cure of /tvarieet and to command 
Your father to be a spectator of it. 
He shall be so anatomized in the scene. 
And see himself so personated, the baseness 
Of a self- torturing miserable wretch 
Truly described, that 1 much hope the object 
Will work compunction in him. 

Parth, There's your fee ; 
I ne'er bought better counsel. Be you in readiness, 
I will effect the rest 

Par. Sir, when yon please ; 
We'll be prepared to enter. — Sir, the emperor. {ExiL 

Enter Cjbsar, Aajmif trs, and Guard. 

C«ff. Repine at us ! 

j§ret. 'Tis more, or my informers, 
That keep strict watch upon him, are deceived 
In their intelligence : there is a list 
Of malcontents, as Junius Rusticus, 
Palphurius Sura, and this MMus Lamia, 
That murmur at your triumphs, as mere pageants ; 
And, at their midnight meetings, tax your justice, 
(For so I style what they call tyranny,) 
For Paetus Thrasea's death, as if in him 
Virtue herself were murder'd : nor forget they 
Agricola, who, for his service done 
In the reducing Britain to obedience. 
They dare affirm to be removed with poison ; 
And he compeird to write you a coheir 
With his daughter, that his testament might stand. 
Which, else, you had made void. Then your much 

To Julia your niece, censured as incest. 
And done in scorn of Titus, your dead brother : 
But the divorce Lamia was forced to sign 
To her you honour with Augusta's title. 
Being only named, they do conclude there was 
A Lucrece once, a Collatine, and a Brutus ; 
But nothing Roman left now but, in you, 
The lust of Tarqnin. 

Cau, Yes, his fire, and scorn 
Of such as think that our unlimited power 
Can be confined. Dares Lamia pretend 
An interest to that which 1 call mine ; 
Or but remember she was ever his, 
That's now in our possession ? Fetch him hither. 

[£jr« Guard. 
I'll give him cause to vrisb he rather had 
Forgot his own name, than e'er mendon'd her's. 
Shall we be circumscribed ? Let such as cannot 
By force make good their actions, though wicked, 
Conceal, excuse, or qualify their crimes 1 
What our desires grant leaye and privilege to, 
Though contradicting all divine decrees. 

Or laws confirm'd by Romulus and Numa, 
Shall be held sacred. 

^rel. You should, else, take from 
The dignity of Caesar. 

Cms. Am I master 
Of two and thirty legions, that awe 
All nations of the tri(impbed world, 
Yet tremble at our frown, to yield account 
Of what's our pleasure, to a private man ! 
Rome perish first, and Atlas's shoulders shrink. 
Heaven's fabric fall, (the sun, the moon, the stars 
Losing their light and comfortable heat,) 
Ere 1 confess that any fault of mine 
May be disputed ! 

Arei. So you preserve your power. 
As you should, equal and omnipotent here, 
With Jupiter's above. 

[Pakt hewius kntelinpt wkispert Csbab. 

Cmt. Thy suit is g^nted, 
Whate'er it be, Partheniua, for thy service 

Done to Augusta. Only so ? a trifle : 

Command him hither. If the comedy fail 
To cure him, I will minister something to him 
That shall instruct him to forget his i^old. 
And think upon himself. 

Parth, May it succeed well. 
Since my intents are pious ! [BxU 

Cms, We are resolved 
What course to take ; and, therefore, Aretinos, 
Enquire no further. Go you to my empress, 
And say I do entreat (for she rules him 
Whom all men else obey) she would vonchsafe 
The music of her voice at yonder window. 
When I advance my hand, thus. I will blend 

lExit AMMranm, 
My cruelty with some scorn, or else 'tis lost. 
Revenge, when it is unexpected, falling 
With greater violence ; and hate clothed in smika^ 
Strikes, and with horror^dead the wretdi that comes 
Prepared to meet it. — [not 

Retnter Guard with Lamia. 

Our good Lamia, welcome. 
So much we owe you for a benefit. 
With willingness on your part conferr'd upon us. 
That 'tis our study, we that would not live 
Engaged to any for a courtesy. 
How to return it. 

Lam, 'Tis beneath your fate 
To be obliged, that in your own hand grasp 
The means to be magnificent. 

Cmt. Well put off; 
But yet it must not do : the empire, T^mia^ 
Divided equally, can hold no weight. 

If balanced with your gift in fiur Domitia 

You, that could part with all delighU at once, 
The magazine of rich pleasures being contain'd 
In her perfections, — unoompell'd, deliver'd 
As a present fit for Cfesar. In your eyes, 
With tears of joy, not sorrow, 'tis confirm'd 
You glory in your act 

Lam, Derided too ! 
Sir, this is more — 

Cos. More than I can reqmte ; 
It is acknowledged. Lamia. There's no drop 
Of melting nectar I taste from her lip, 
But yields a touch of immortality 
To the blest receiver ; every grace and feature. 
Prised to the worth, bought at an easy rate. 
If porchased for a consulship. Her discourse 

9i,kSE I. 



So ririvhing, and her action so attractive, 

That 1 would pait with all my other Reuses, 

IV ivided 1 might ever see and hear her. 

The pleasures of her bed I dare not trust 

Phf winds or air with ; for that would drawdown, 

1 n envy of my happiness, a war 

Fnim all the gods, upon me. 

Lam, Your compassion 
To me, in your forbearing to insult 
On my calamity, which you make your sport, 
Would more appease those gods you have pro- 
Than all the blasphemous comparisons ' [Toked, 
You sing unto her praise. 

DoMrriA appears at tk4 wtndaw, 

Cmg, I sing her praise ! 
*Tis far from my ambition to hope it ; 
It being a debt she only can lay down. 
And no tongue else discharge. 

iH§ raises his hamd, Mvste above. 
Hark ! 1 think, prompted 
With my consent that you once more should hear 
She does begin. An universal silence [her. 

Dwell on this place ! 'Tis death, with lingering, 
To all that dare disturb her. — [torments, 

{A Song bp Doiim a. 
— Who can hear this, 
And fall not down and worship ? In my £uicy, 
Apollo being judge, on Latmos' hill 
Fair-hair'd Calliope, on her ivory lute, 
(But something short of this.) sung Ceres' praises, 
And grisly Pluto's rape on Proserpine. 
The motions of the spheres are out of time. 
Her musical notes but heard. Say, Lamia, fay, 
Is not her voice angelical ? 

Lam, To your ear : 
But I, alas ! am silent 

Cau. Be so ever, 
Tliat without admiration canst hear her ! 
Malice to my felicity strikes thee dumb. 
And, in thy hope, or wish, to repossess 
V^ hat I love more than empire, I pronounce thee 
Guilty of treason. — Off with his head ! do you stare ? 
By her that is my patroness, Minerva, 
Whose statue I adore of all the gods, 
If he but live to make reply, thy life 
Shall answer it I 

[TV Guard leads qfLAWA, stopping Ms moiutk. 
My fears of him are freed now ; 
\nd he that lived to upbraid me with my wrong, 
For an offence he never could imagine. 
In wantonness removed. — Descend, my dearest ; 
Plurality of husbands shall no more 
Breed doubts or jealousies in you : [EjcU Dom. 

above.^ 'tis dispatch *d. 
And with as little trouble here, as if 
I had kill'd a fly. 

EnUr DoMma, ushered in bg Aasnmi, her train home 
up bg Julia, Canib, and Domitilla. 

Now you appear, and in 
That glory you deserve ! and these, that stoop 
To do you service, in the act much honour'd ! 
Julia, forget that Titus was thy father ; 
Caenis, and Domitilla, ne'er remember 
Sabinus or Vespasian. To be slaves 
To her is more true liberty, than to live 
Parthian or Asian queens. As lesiter stars. 
That wait on Phoebe in her full of brightness. 
Compared to her, you are. Thus, thus I seat you 
Bv Cesar's side, commanding these, that once 

Were the adored glories of the time, ■ 
To witness to the world they are your Tassals, 
At your feet to attend you. 
Dom, 'Tis your pleasure. 
And not my pride. And yet, when I consider 
That I am yours^ all duties they can paj 
I do receive as circumstances due 
To her you please to honour. 

Re-entor Vaxtbmmvm with TmLAtmm. 

Parih. Csesar'swiU 
Commands you hither, nor must you gainsay it. 

PhU, Lose time to see an interlude ! must I pay 
For my Texation? [too, 

Parth, Not in the court : 
It is the emperor's charge. 

Phil. I shall endure 
My torment then the better. 

Ctfs. Can it be 
This sordid thing, Piirthenius, is thy father ? 
No actor can express him : I had held 
The fiction for impossible in the scene. 
Had I not seen the substance. — Sirrah, sit still. 
And give attention ; if you but nod. 
You sleep for ever. — Let them spare the prologue. 
And all the ceremonies proper to ourself, 
And come to the last act — there, where the cure 
By the doctor is made perfect The swift minutes 
Seem years to roe, Domitia, that divorce thee 
From my embraces : my desires increasing 
As they are satisfied, all pleasures else 
Are tedious m» dull sorrows. Kiss me again : 
If I now wanted heat of youth, these fires. 
In Priam's veins, would thaw his frozen blood. 
Enabling him to get a second Hector 
For the defence of Troy. 

Dom, You are wanton ! 
Pray you, forbear. Let me see the play. 

Ceu. Begin there. 

Bnter Paris, lihe a doctor of phgrie, and JBaopcs : 
Latinitii is brought forth asleep in a dbatr, a keg in 
his mouth. 

iEsop. O matter doctor, ho it pott reeoverg ; 
A lethargy hath teized him ; and, however 
Hit tleep retemble death, hit watchful care 
To guard that treasure he daret make no %ite ef, 
Wbfkt strongly in hit soul. 

Par. Whaft that he holdt 
Sofatt between hit teeth $ 

^sop. The key that opent 
Hit iron chettt, crammed with aeeurted goU^ 
Rutty with long impritonment. Thereat no duty 
In me, hit ton, nor confidence infriendt. 
That can pertuade him to deliver up 
That to the trutt of any, 

Phil, He is the wiser : 
We were fashion'd in one mould. 

iEsop. He eatt with it ; 
And when devotion callt him io ihe temple 
Of Mammon^ whom, ofeUl the godt, he kneelt to, 
Th at held thut ttilk hit oritont are paid : 
Nor will he, though the wealth tf Rome were 

Por ihe rettoring t^f*i, for one thort kou^ 
Be won to part with it. 

Phil StiU, stiU myself ! 
And if like me he love his gold, no pawn 
Is good security. 

Par. rU try ^ J eon force it 

// will not be. Hit avaricicut mind. 




Like men in rivrrg »/ro»rnV, make him gripe fast. 
To his last gasp, what he in life held dearest ; 
And, if thai it n-ere futsxthfe in nature ^ 
IVnu/d carry it with him to the other world, 

Phil. As I would do to hell, rather than leave it. 

j'Esop. Is he not dead 9 

Par. Long since to all good actions^ 
Or to himself or others^ for which wise men 
Desire to live. Von may with safety pinch him. 
Or under his nails stick needles^ yet he stirs not ; 
Anxious f ar to lose what hit soul doals on, 
/lenders his flesh inseiuible. We must use 
Some means to rouse the sleeping faculties 
Of his mind ; there lies the lethargy. Take a 

Antl blow it into his ears ; *tis to no purpose ; 
The roaring noise of thunder cannot wake him: — 
And yet despair not ; I have one trick left yet, 

Mm^. What is it $ 

Par. / ttfii/ cause a fearful dream 
To steal into his fancy ^ and disturb it 
With the horror U brings with it, and to free 
His body's organs. 

Dom. 'Ti^ a cunning fellow ; 
If he were indeed a doctor, as the play says, 
He should be sworn my servant ; govern my slum- 
And minister to me waking. [bers, 

Par. If this fail, [A chest brought In, 

77/ give him o*er. So; with all violence 
Bend ope this iron chest, for here his life liet 
Bound up in fetters^ and in the defence 
Of what he valuet higher, * twill return, 
AndfUl each vein and artery. — Louder yet! 
— ' 7^ open^ and already he begitit 
To ttir ; mark with what trouble, 

[Latinus stretches hlmsdf. 

Phil. As you are Ceesar, 
Defend this honest, thrifty man I they are thieves, 
Ard come to rob him. 

Parth. Peace ! the emperor frowns. 

Par. So; now pour out the bags upon the table ; 
Bemove his jewels, and his bonds. — Again^ 
Bing a second t^olden peal. His eyes nre open ; 
He stares as he had seen Mednsa's head. 
And were turned marble Once more. 

LaL Murder! murder! 
They come to murder me. My son in the plot 9 
Thou worse than parricide ! if it be death 
To strike thy father's body, can all tortures 
The Furies in hell practise, be sufficient 
For thee, that dost assassinate my soul 9 — 
My gold ! my bonds ! my jewels ! dost thou envy 
My glad possession of them for a day { 
Extinguishing the taper of my life 
Consumed unto t/ie snuff 9 

Par. Seem not to mind him, 

Lat. Have I, to leave thee rich, denied myself 
The joys of human being ; scraped and /utarded 
A mass of treasure, which had Solon seen. 
The Lydian Crcssus had appeared to him 
Poor as the beggar Ii-us 9 And yet I, 
Solicitous to increase it. when my entrails 
Were clemm'd with keeping a perpetual fast, 
Was deaf to their loud windy cries, as fearing, 
Should I disburse one penny to their use, 
My lieir might curse me. And, to save ezpent§ 
In outward ornaments, I did expose 
My naked body to thr winter's coldy 
And summer's scorching heat : nay, when diseases 
Grew tJUek upon me, and a little cost 

Hod pitrchatrd my recovery, I chose rather 
To hare my axhis closed up in my urn. 
By hasting on my fate, than to dim nish 
The ffoid ii>y prodigal son, while I am living, 
I 'arelessly scatters. 

vEsop. Would you'd dispatch and die onee ! 
Your ghost shoultl feel in hell, that is my slave 
Which was your master. 

Phil, Out upon thee, varlet ! 

Par. And what t/ten follows all your earke otui 
And self affliction 9 When your starved trunk it 
Turn'd to forgotten dust, this hopeful youth 
Urines upon your monument, tie'er remembering 
How much for him you suffer' d ; and then tells. 
To the companions of /Us lusts and riots, 
Tfie /tell you did endure on earth, to leave him 
Large means to be an epicure, and to feast 
His senses all at once, a /usppiness 
You never granted to yourself. Your gold, t/ien^ 
Got with vexation, and prtserved with trouble. 
Maintains t/ie public stews, panders, and ri^fftanSf 
T/hat quaff damnations to your memory. 
For living so long /lere, 

Lat. // will be so ; I see it — 
O, that I could redeem the time t/uU*s past ! 
I wouid live and die like myself and make ints 

Of what my industry pure/uued. 

Par. Covetous men, 
Haring one fool in the grave, lament so ever s 
But grant that I by art could yet recover 
Your desperate sickness, lengt/ien out your life 
A dozen of years ; as I restore your body 
To perfect health, will you with care etuteavotsr 
To rectify hour mind 9 

Lat. / s/Muld so live t/ien. 
As neit/ier my /leir s/iould /lave just cause to think 
I Hoed too long, for being close -/utnded to him. 
Or cruel to myself. 

Par. Have your desires, 
P/usbus assisting me, I unit repair 
The ruind building of your /wealth ; and think nai 
You /lave a son that hates you ; the truth is. 
This means, with his consent, I practised on you 
To this good end : it being a device. 
In you to s/tew t/te Cure of Avarice. 

IKxeunt Paris, Latinus, and JEsoroa 

Phil. An old fool to be gullM thus ! had he died 
As 1 resolve to do, not to be altered. 
It had gone off twanging. 

Cas, How approve you, sweetest, 
Of the matter, and the actors ? 

Dofn. For the subject, 
I like it not ; it was Hlch*d out of Horace. 
— Nay, I have read the poets : — but the fellow 
That play'd the doctor, did it well, by Venus ; 
He had a tuneable tongue, and neat delivery : 
And yet, in my opinion, he would perform 
A lover*H part inuch better. Prithee, Ciesar, 
For 1 grow weary, let us see, to-morrow, 
Ip/tis and Anaxarete, 

C(BS, Anything 
For thy delight, Domitia ; to your rest, 
Till I come to disquiet you : wait upon her. 
There is a business that I must dispatch, 
And I will straight be with you. 

lExeunt Aamt, Don. Juua, Cj^nib, and Dosina, 

Parth. Now, my dread sir, 
Endeavottf to prevaiL 

'KNK 1. 



Cas. One way or other 
We'll cure him, never cloul>t it. Now, Philiiririi!*, 
Thou wretched thing, hut thou seen tiiy s^milid 

And but observed what a contemptible creature 
A covetoua miser is ? Dost thitu in thyself 
Feel true compunction, with a resolution 
To be a new man ? 

Fhil. This crazed body's Cssar's ; 
But for my mind 

CiBi. Trifle not with my anger. 
Canst thou make good use of what was now pre- 
sented ; 
And imitate, in thy sudden change of life, 
The miserable rich man, that expressed 
What Chou art to the life P 

Phil. Pray you. give me leave 
Tn (lie ns I have lived. I must not part with 
My udld : it is my lite : I am past cure. 

CofM. No ; by M inenra, thou shalt never more 
Feet the least touch of avarice. Take him hence, 
And hang him instantly. If there be gold in hell. 
Enjoy it : — thine here, and thy life together, 
Is f«irfcited. 

Phii. Was I sent for to this purpose ? 

Parth, Mercy for all my service ; Cssar, mercy I 

CtB». Should Jove plead for him, 'tis resolved he 
And he that speaks one syllable to dissuade me ; 
And therefore tempt me not. It is but justice : 
Since such as wilfully would hourly die, 
Must tax themselves, and not my cruelty. {BjctumL 


SCENE \.-~A Room in the PaUue, 

Enter Julu, Domitiixa, and SrtmrnAnfm. 

Jui. No, Domitilla ; if you but compare 
What I have suffered with your injuries, 
fThough great ones, I confess,) they will appear 
Like molehills to Olympus. 

Domilil. You are tender 
Of your own wounds, which makes you lose the 

And sense of mine. The incest he committed 
Wiih you, and publicly professed, in scorn 
Of what the world durst censure, may admit 
Some weak defeiure, as being borne hendlong to it, 
hut in a manly way, to enjoy your btauties : 
Bexides, won by his perjuries, that he would 
S)iute you with the title of Augusta, 
^ fiur faint denial show'd a full consent. 
And grant to his temptations, hut poor I, 
That would not yield, but was wttli violence forced 
Tn serve his lusts, and in a kind Tiberius 
At CapreK never practised, have not here 
<)ne conscious touch to rise up my accuser ; 
I, in my will, being innocent. 

Strph. Pardon me. 
Great princesses, tliough I presume to tell you, 
W^asting your time in childish lamentations, 
You do degenerate from ihe blood you spring from : 
For there is something more in Rome expected 
From Titus* daughter, and his uncle's heir, 
Tlian womanish complaints, after such wrongs 
Which mercy cannot pardon. But, you'll say. 
Your hands are weak, and should you but attempt 
A just revenge on this inhuman monster, 
This prodigy of mankind, bloody Domitian 
Hath ready swords at his command, as well 
As islands to confine you, to remove 
His doubts, and fears, did he but entertain 
The least suspicion you contrived or plotted 
Against his person. 

Jul. 'Tis true, Stephanos ; 
The legions that sack d Jerusalem, 
Under my father Titus, are sworn his, 
And I no more remember'd. 

Domitil. And to lose 
Ourselves by building on impossible hopes, 
Were desperate madness. 

Steph. You conclude too fast* 

One single arm, whose master does contemn' 
His own life, holds a full command o'er his. 
Spite of his guards. I was your bondman, lady. 
And you my gracious patroness ; my wealth 
And lilicrty your gift ; and, though no soldier^ 
To whom or custom or example makes 
Grim death appear less terrible, 1 dare die 
To do you service in a fair revenge : 
And it vrill better suit your births and honoura 
To fall at once, than to live ever slaves 
To his proud empress, that insults apon 
Your patient sufferings. Say but you. Go 9m! 
And I will reach his heart, or peiish in 
The noble undertaking. 

Domitil. Your free offer 
Confirms your thankfulness, which I acknowledge 
A satisfaction for a greater debt 
Than what you stand engaged for ; but I must not 
Upon uncertain grounds, haxard so grateful 
And good a servant. The immortal Powers 
Protect a prince, though sold to impious acts, 
And seem to slumber, till his roaring crimes 
Awake their justice ; but then, looking down, 
And with impartial eyes, on his contempt 
Of all religion, and moral goodness. 
They, in their secret judgments, do determine 
To leave him to his vrickedness, which sinks him, 
When he is most secure. 

Jui. His cruelty 
Increasing daily, of necessity 
Must render him as odious to his soldiers. 
Familiar friends, and freedmen, as it hath done 
Already to the senate : then forsaken 
Of his supi»orters, and grown terrible 
£veu to hiiiit^elf, and her he now so doats on, 
We may ).ut into act what now with safety 
We cannot whisper. 

Sleph. I am still prepared 
To execute, when you please to command me : 
Since I am confident he deserves mucli more 
That vindicates his country from a tyrant, 
Than he that saves a citizen. 

Enter Cisina. 

JuL O, here's CKnis. 
Domini. Whence come you ? 
Cttnit. From the empress, woo seems moved 
In that you wait no better. Her pride's grown 




To such a height, that she disdains the service 
Of her own women : and esteems herself 
Neglected, when the princesses of the blood, 
On every coarse employment^ are not ready 
To stoop to her commands. 

Domiiil, Where is her Greatness ? 

C^Btiis, Where you would little think she conld 
To urace the room or persons. [de:$centl 

Jul. Speak, where is she ? 

Canit. Among the players ; where, all state laid 
She does enquire who acts this part, who that, [by, 
And in what habits ? blames the tirewomen 
For want of curious dressings ; — and, so taken 
•She is with Paris the tragedian's shape, 
That is to act a lover, I thought once 
She would have courted him. 

Domitii. In the mean time 
How spends the emperor his hours ? 

C^nit. As ever 
He hath done heretofore ; in being cruel 
To innocent men, whose virtues he calls crimes. 
And, but this morning, if't be possible, 
He hath outgone himself, having condemned, 
At Aretinus his informer's suit, 
Palphurius Sura, and good Junius Rusticus, 
Men of the best repute in Rome for their 
Integrity of life ; no fkult objected, 
But that they did lament his cruel sentence 
On Poetus Thrasea, the philosopher, 
Their patron and instructor. 

Steph, Can Jove see this, 
And hold his thunder 1 

Domiiil. Nero and Caligula 
Onlv commanded mischief ; but our Csesar 
Delights to see them. 

Jul, What we cannot help, 
We may deplore with silence. 

CmntM, We are call'd for 
By our proud mistress. 

Domitii. We awhile must suffer. 

Steph, It is true fortitude to stand firm against 
All shocks of fate, when cowards faint and die 
In fear to suffer more calamity. IBmhhL 

SCENE II Another Room in the tatne. 

EtUer CjBSAm and FA E TMawius. 

Cms, They are then in fetters ? 

Parth, Yes, sir, but 

Cat. But what? 
I'll have thy thoughts ; deliver them. 

Parth, I shall, sir s 
But still submitting to your god-like pleasure, 
Which cannot be instructed 

Cos, To the point. 

Parth, Nor let your sacred mi\jesty believe 
Your vassal, that with dry eyes look'd upon 
His father dragg'd to death by your command, 
Can pity these, that durst presume to censure 
What you decreed. 

Cat, Well; forward. 

Parth, 'Tls my seal 
Btill to preserve your clemency admired. 
Temper d with justice, that emboldens me 
To offer my advice. Alas 1 I know, sir, 
These bookmen, Rusticus and Palphurius Sura, 
Deserve all tortures : yet, in my opinion. 
They being popular senators, and cried up 
Witli loud applauses of the multitude. 

For foolish honesty, and beggariy virtue, 
'Twould relish more of policy, to have them 
Made away in private, with what exquisite torments 
You please. — it skills not, — than to have them 

To the degrees in public ; for 'tis doubted 
That the sad object may b^et compassion 
In the giddy rout, and cause some sudden uproar 
Tb-it may disturb you. 

Cat. Hence, pde-spirited coward ! 
Can we de»ceod so fw benea'h ourself, 
As or to court the people's love, or fear 
Their worst of hate? Can they, that are as dust 
Before the whirlwind of our will and power. 
Add any moment to us ? Or thou think. 
If there are gods above, or goddesses, 
But wise Minerva, that's mine own, and sure. 
That they have vacant hours to take into 
Their serious protection, or care. 
This many-headed monster ? Mankind lives 
In few, as potent monarchs, and their peers ; 
And all those glorious constellations 
That do adorn the firmament, appointed, 
Like grooms, with their bright influence to attend 
The actions of kings and emperors. 
They being the greater wheels that move the less. 
Bring forth those condemn'd wretches ; — [BxU 

Parthbnius.] — let me see 
One man so lost, as but to pity them. 
And though there lay a million of souls 
Imprison'd in his flmh, my hangmen's hooks 
Should rend it off, and give them liberty. 
Caesar hath said it 

Rie-tnUr FAKTHSiriini, with Aamitvs, and Guard ; Ea^- 
outioners dragging in Junius Ruaricua and PALranaivs 
SuKA, bound back to bade. 

Aret, 'TIS great Caesar's pleasure. 
That with fiz'd eyes you carefully observe 
The people's looks. Charge upon any man 
That with a sigh or murmur does express 
A seeming sorrow for these traitors' deaths. 
You know his will, perform it. 

Cat, A good bloodhound, 
And fit for my employments. 

Sura, Give us leave 
To die, fell tyrant. 

Rutt, For, beyond our bodies, 
Thou hast no power. 

Cat. Yes ; I'll afflict your souls. 
And force them groaning to the Stygian lake, 
Prepared for such to howl in, that blaspheme 
The power of princes, that are gods on earth. 
Tremble to think how terrible the dream is 
After this sleep of death. 

Rutt. To guilty men 
It may bring terror ; not to us, that know 
What 'tis to die, well taught by his example 
For whom we suffer. In my thought I see 
The substance of that pure untainted soul 
Of Thrasea, our master, made a star. 
That with melodious harmony invites us 
(Learing this dunghill Rome, made hell by thee) 
To trace his heavenly steps, and till a sphere 
Above yon crystal canopy. 

Cat. Do invoke him 
With aU the aids his sanctity of life 
Have won on the rewarders of his virtue ; 
They shall not save you. — Dogs, do you grin ? 
torment them. 
[7k« EzecutknMn torment /Arm. tkiy tUU smUing 


MTKNE ri. 



So, take a leaf of Senera now, and prove 
If it can render you inAensible 
i>f that which but begins here. Now an oil. 
Drawn frum the Stuic'tf frozen principles, 
Predominant over fire, were useful for yoa. 

Again, again. You trifle. Not a groan ! 

Is mj rage lost? What cursed charms defend 

them ! 
Search deeper, villains. Who looks pale, or thinks 
That I am cruel ? 

Aret. Over-merciful : 
'Tis all your weakness, sir. 

Parth. I dare not shew 
A sign of sorrow ; yet my sinews shrink, 
The spectacle is so horrid. lA$id€» 

Cos. I was never 
O'ercome till now. For my sake roar a little, 
And shew you are corporeal, and not tum'd 
Aerial spirits. — Will it not do ? By Pallas, 
It is unkindly done to mock his fury 
Whom the world styles Omnipotent 1 I am tor- 
In their want of feelinf torments. Marius' story, 
That does report him to have sat unmoved. 
When cunning surgeons ripp'd his arteries 
And veins, to cure his gout, compared to this. 
Deserves not to be named. Are they not dead ? 
If so, we wash an ifilhiop. 

Sura. No ; we live. 

Rati. Live to deride thee, our calm patience 
Upon the neck of tyranny. That securely, 
As 'twere a gentle slumber, we endure 
Thy hangman's studied tortures, is a debt 
We owe to grave philosophy, that instructs us 
The flesh is but the clothing of the »oul, 
Which growing out of fashion, though it be 
Cast off, or rent, or torn, like ours,, Mis then. 
Being itself divine, in her best lustre. 
But unto such as thou, that have no hopes 
Beyond the. present, every Utile scar. 
The want of rest, excess of heat or cold, 
That does inform them only they are mortal, 
Pierce through and through them. 

Cms. We will hear no more. 

Rtui. This only, and I give thee warning of it : 
Though it is in thy will to grind this earth 
As small as atoms, they thrown in the sea too, 
They shall seem re-collected to thy sense : — 
And, when the sandy building of thy greatness 
Shall with its own weight totter, look to see me 
As I was yesterday, in my perfect shape ; 
For rU appear in horror. 

Cos. By my shaking 
I am the guilty man, and not the judge. 
Drag from my sight these cursed ominous wixards, 
That, as they are now, like to double-faced Janus, 
Which way soe'er I look, are Furies to me. 
Away with them ! first shew them death, then 

No memory of their ashes, m mock Fate. 

lExeunl Executioners mrith Ruarrcua and Bura. 
Shall words fright him victorious armies circle ? 
No, no ; the fever does begin to leave me ; 

EnUr DoMiTiA, Julla, and CmKm ; BrmraAmm following. 

Or, were it deadly, from this living foantain 
I could renew the vigour of my youth. 
And be a second Virbius. O my gtory I 
My life ! command ! my all » 


Dom, As yoa to me are. 

lEmbradnff and \luinff 
I heard you were sad ; I have prepared you sport 
Will banish melancholy. Sirrah, Caesar, 
(I hug myself for't,) I have been instructing 
The players how to act ; and to cut off 
All tedious impertinence, have contracted 
The tragedy into one continued scene. 
I have the art oft, and am taken more 
With my ability that way, than all knowledge 
1 have but of thy love. 

Cms, Thou art still thyself, 
The sweetest, wittiest, 

Dom. When we are a-bed 
ril thank your good opinion. Then shalt see 
Such an Iphis of thy Paris ! — and, to humble 
The pride of DomitiUa, that neglects me, 
(Howe'er she is your cousin,) I have forced knr 

To play the part of Anaxarete 

You are not offieoded with it ? 

Cos, Any thing 
That does content thee yields delight to me i 
My facultiM and powers are thine. 

Dom, I thank yoa : 
Prithee let's take our places. Bid them enter 
Without more circumstance. 

AA^ A skortJUmrUkt snter Pabis as Irwa. 

How do yoa like 
That shape ? methinks it is most soitable 
To the asp^ of a despairing lover. 
The seeming late-iUlen, counterfeited tears 
That hang upon his cheeks, vras my device. 

CiBs. And all was excellent. 

Dom. Now hear him speak. 

Iphis. Thai she is fair, (and thai an epithet 
Too foul to express her,) or descended nobty, 
Or rich, or fortunate, are certain truths 
In which poor Iphis glories. Bui thai these 
Perfections, in no other virgin found, 
Abused, should nourish eruettp and pride 
In the dicinest Anaxarete, 
Is, to my love-sick, languishing sout^'a riddle ; 
And with more difficulty to be dissolved. 
Than that the monster Sphinx, from the steep rock. 
Offered to (Edipus. Imperious Love, 
As at thy ever-fiaming altars Iphis, 
Thy never-tired votary, hath presented, 
With scalding tears, whole hecatombs tffsighSf 
Preferring thy power, and thy Paphktn mother's, 
Before the Thunderer's, Neptune* s, or Pluto*s 
( Thai, after Saturn, did divide the world. 
And had the sway qf things, yet were eompeWd 
By thy inevitable shafts to yield. 
And fight under thy ensigns) be auspicious 
To this last trial qfmy sacrifice 
Of love and service / 

Dom. Does he not act it rarely ? 
Observe with what a feeling he delivers 
His orisons to Cupid ; I am rapt with't. 

Iphis. And from thy never-emptied quiver take 
A golden arrow, to transfix her heart. 
And force her love Hke me ; or cure my wound 
With a leaden one, thai may beget in me 

Hate cmd forge^fulness ef whats now my idol 

But I call back my prayer ; I have blasphem*d 
In my rash wish : lis I thai am unuxtrlhy ; 
But she all merit, and may in justice chall^ntte^ 
From the assurance rfher excellencies. 
Not love bui adoration, Ke/. tfcar wttrwM. 


411-linoviiui Poixeri ! I l-riiui ohni/ icUli me, 
A' .falihl'1,1 tilfoe'ilir la make intfrectiun. 
A Infal heuTi tPilh pure and hotgfiiinei, 
W.//. the fovlfitet Bf Imt k'B't pollufnl. 
A-l. :, I louah her Ihrafwl', vkivh wUh Itarl, 
Ms rimla lienumli'd aiih told. I oft Aim aatli'd, 
VFilli my fflad llpi I kite Ihii earl/,, i/roan proud 
fVi' fi freguinlfmcuri from her delicate feel. 

Dom. Uj Ckmt'i life he nccpa '. aiiil 1 forbear 
Hanlly lo hnrp him cooirxiny. 

tphin. Bleil grouud.lhg pardBn, 
If / profane U lei h farhidden tirpi. 
I mutt preitime I" knock — and gel aUempt U 
IFitt tueh a trembling reverence, m if 
Mg Kand, [h'tv note'] held up /or expi'iliaa 
T<- the ineentedgadi to epare a kingdom. 
IPilhin there, ho I eaiitething dioiiie come firth 
To a dittreeeed mortal. 

Port. Ha! Who knocki there f 

Dam. V liat a cUwMi look tliis kiuve ha* I 

Pnrt. /*'( ffuu. tirruh 3 

Are j/ou came lo pule and Khinef j4(raunl, and 
quicklfl ; 

Do'i-whipi thall drive you hence, lite. 

1 won Id tear hit e;e> out. 

Cwt. 'Tin in jeat, Domitio. 

DoM, 1 da DOt like audi je«ting ; if he nere nut 
A flintf-betrted itave, be cuuld aot u>e 
One af hii rorm to hsrabtf ■ Hon the tond iweJls 
At the other'* tweet butnility 1 

Cai. "Tie hit put 1 
Let them proeeed. 

Dam. A rogue't ptrtwill ne'er leave him. 

I|ihii. At jrdu have, gentle tir. the happinett 
QVIien yau pirate) lo Uhold the figure 0/' 
The mailerpiece of nalvre, Vimi'd to Hie life, 
/n more ihan human Anar'-rele, 
Seorn not jwtif leroani, that wilh tuppliant handt 
Taket h'M upon your kiieia, aenjuriag gi 



Ofwoli^ei. and ligeri, ar a malhrrof 

Before Iheg are aepl out, may HI your /ody. 
Will you be gradoui, tir f 

Port. Though I hite my place for' I, 
I can hold oat tto longer. 

Don. tlowkemc\U, 

An«. tVhocalUf fVhat object have 

:. Did I not charge thee 

l.o,eer 1 canmUfoll lo theui «y duly. 
Till your dunfuin hath difo'dagrave (1 
Thie body ailh forg-llen Soil 1 and, m 

IHng death, remaoe the object 

Xnax. JVreteli, ihou dor'it not .■ 
Thai leere Ihe tail andgiea'rtl lervice lo me 
Thy doling lour could bo-'it if. What dull/ool 
Bill Ihou could nauriih anyfiatlering hope. 
One "fmy height in youth, in birth and fortune, 
Could e'er d-tcend to look upon Ihy /wcneyi, 
Much lett content to mahs my lord tif one 
I'd ■•ol accept. Ihougk offer'd fur my ilaeet 
My ihoughti tloop nol to 'did. 

Dum. There'* her tnie nature ; 

Or to exchange a lyllable "r loot 
IVilh one to far beneath mt. 

tphii. Y't take heed. 
Take heed of pride, aiid eurlouely eoniider. 
Haul brittle the foundation if. on HiA'icA 
You labour to adeanc il. I^inU. 
Prou^ af her numeroui fuutf, dattteonlemn 
Latona't double burtben ; but what fallaui'd t 
She uHU left a chUdlttt mother, end moum'd It 

The beauty yon o'erpriie ■*, line or lirkaeie 
Can change to loath'd deformity ; your meallh 
The prey tffthieeet ; queen Hecuba, Troy fired, 
Ulyaet' bondwoman : bu' 'he lore I bring yon 
JViir time, nor tickneis. violent Ihieoei, nor fait. 
Can raviehfrom you. 

D"m. Conld the Oracle 
Give better coumel ! 

Iphii. Say, will you relent yet. 
Revoking your decree thai 1 should diet 
" • ■• • • rhal you command i reiolae ; 

ur, enau i ao vnat you 
I am impatient of delay, 
» 1" Diipaleh then 

I ihall 

your tragedy uonoped, 

_ _ lugh at il i for it wiW^ 

A comedy to me. 

Dam. O devil I devil '. 

Iphit. Then tliui I take my liul leave. All 

Of loeere fall upon you ; and. hereofler. 
When any man, like me cmtemii'd. thall eludy. 
In the anguith of hie aoul. to give a name 
To a icortiful, cruel miitreet, let Aim only 
Say, Thie moit bloody uaman it to me. 

As Aaaxarete uai lo aretched Iphit I 

NoK feati yoar tyrannoui mind, and //lory ■■ 
The ruini you haoe made .- for Hymen', bandi. 
Tlial should hape made <m one, thie fatal holler 
For ever thall dicaree us ,- at your gale, 
Asa trophy iif your ptide and my affliction, 
I'll preienlly haiig mytelf, 

Dom. Not for the world — IStarie fi-om ktr leat. 
Ralrain bim, aa you love your Utei I 

Cat. Whyareyoa 
Traaaported tbui. Domitia ? 'tii 1 ptay ; 
Or. gra 



D,m. Let me, air, 
Eatrcit yonr pardon ; what 1 aaw preaeated. 

Carried me beyond myaelf. 

Ctei. To your place again, 
And are what followi. 

Dom. No, I am fBrniliar 
With ihe concluaion; bcEidea. upon the auddui 
[ feel myself much indiapoard. 

90BNR t. 



Cat. To bed then ; 
ril be thj doctor. 

Aret, There is somethinfr more 
In this than passion, — which 1 must find out, 
Or my intelligence freezes. 

Dom, Come to me, Paris, 
To-morrow, for your reward. 

{EKtmtU, all b«i DoMiTiLLA ami Stkpuaxus 

Steph. Patroness, hear me ; 
Will you not call for your share ?* Sit down wich 

And, tl)e next action, like a Gaditane strumpet, 
I si tall look to see yon tumble ! 

Domitil, Prithee be patient. 
I, I h.'it hnve suffcr'd greater wrongs, bear this : 
And that, till my revenge, my comfort is. [Exeunti 


SCENE h—A Room in the Palace, 

BmUr Parthbnius, Juua, DoxiTiLiJi, and C.4-;nis. 

Parih. Why, 'tis impossible. — Paris ! 

Jul. You observed not, 
A 8 it appears, the violence of her passion, 
When personating Iphis, he pretended. 
For your contempt, fair Auaxarete, 
To hang himself. 

Parfh. Yes, yes, I noted that ; 
Bat never could imagine it could work her 
To such a strange intemperance of affection. 
As to doat on him. 

Domitil. By my hopes, I think not 
That she res|)ects, though all here saw, and 

mark'd it ; 
Pretnming she can mould the emperor's will 
Into what form she likes, though we, and all 
The informers of the world, conspired to cross it. 

C^n. Then with what eagerness, this morning, 
The want of heiilth and rest, she did entreat 
Cesar to leave her ! 

Domitil. Who no sooner absent. 
Bat she calls, Dwarf ! (so in her scorn she styles 

Put on my panlojles ; fetch pen and paper, 
I am to write : - and with distracted Inuks, 
In her smock, impatient of so short delay 
As but to have a mantle thrown upon her. 
She seal'd — I know not what, but twas indorsed, 
To my loved Paris. 

JuL Add to this, I heard her 
Say, when a page received it. Let him wait me, 
And carefully, in the tralk calCd our Retreat, 
Where Ctesar, in his fear toyive offence, 
Unsent for, never enters. 

Parth. This being certain, 
(For these are more than jealous suppositions,) 
Why do not you, that are so near in blood, 
Discover it ? 

Domitil. Alas ! you know we dare not. 
'Twill be received fur a malicious practice. 
To free us from that slavery which her pride 
Imposes on us. But, if you would please 
To break the ice, on pain to be sunk ever, 
We would aver it. 

Parth. I would second you. 
But that I am cumiuanded with all speed 
To fetch in Ascletario the Chaldeeaii ; 
Who, in his absence, is condemn'd of treason. 
For calculating the nativity 
Of Caesar, with all ct>ntidrnre fortelling. 
In every circumstance, whrn he shall die 
A violent death. Yet, it' you could appvove 
')f my directions, 1 would have you speak 

As much to Aretinus, as yoa hare 
To roe deliver' d : he in his own naturt 
Heing a spy, on weaker grounds, no doubt, 
Will undertake it ; not for goodness' sake, 
(With which he never yet held correspondence,) 
iiut to endear his vigilant observing* 
Of what concerns the emperor, and a little 
To triumph in the ruins of this Paris, 
That cross'd him in the senate-house. — 

Enter ARicnirua. 

Here he comes, 
His nose held up ; he hath iomething in the wind, 
Or I much err, already. My designs 
Command me hence, great ladies; but I leave 
My wishes with you. iStctU 

Aret. Have I caught your Greatness 
In the trap, my proud Augusta 1 

Domitil, What is't wraps him ? 

Aret. And my fine Roman Actor ! Is't even so ? 
No coarser dish to take yonr wanton palate, 
Save that which, but the emperor, none darst taste 
*Tis very well. I needs most glory in [of f 

This rare discovery : but the rewards 
Of my intelligence bid me think, even now, 
Ry an edict from Cvsar, I have power 
To tread upon the neck of slavish Rome, 
Disposing offices ancl provinc^es 
To my kinsmen, friends, and clients. 

Domitil. This is more 
Than usual with him. 

Jul, Aretinus ! 

Aret. How ! 
No more respect and reverence tender'd to me, 
But Aretinus ! 'Tis confess'd that title. 
When you were princesses, and commanded aU, 
Had been a favour ; but being, as you are, 
Vassals tr) a proud woman, the worst bondage. 
You stand obliged with as much adoration 
To entertain him, that comes arm'd with strength 
To break your fetters, as tann'd galley-slaves 
Pay auch as do re«leem theni from the oar. 
I rome not to entrap you ; but aloud 
Pronounce that you are manuroized : and to make 
Your liberty sweeter, you shall see her fall, 
Tliis empress, — this Doniitia, — what you will,— 
That triumphed in your miseries. 

Domitil. Were you seritius, 
To prove your accusation 1 could lend 
Some help. 

Can. .\nd I. 

Jul. And I. 

Aret. No atom to me. — 
My eyes and ears are everywhere ; I know all, 
To the line and action in the piny that took her t 
Her quick dissimulation to excuse 



ACT ir. 

Her beinfip transported, with her morning passion. 
I bribed the boy that did convey the letter, 
And, having perused it, made it up again : 
Your griefs and angers are to me familiar. 
— That Paris is brought to her, and how far 
He shall be tempted. 

Domitil, This is above wonder. 

Aret. M J gold can work much stranger miracles, 
Than to corrupt poor waiters. Here, join with me — 

{Takes out a petition. 
'Tis a complaint to Caesar. This is that 
Shall ruin her and raise you. Have you set your 
To the accusation ? [hands 

Jul. And will justify 
What we've subscribed to. 

C^n, And with vehemence. 

Domitil, I will deliver it. 

Arei. Leave the rest to me then. 

Alter CnsAft, with his Ouard. 

Cat, Let our lieutenants bring us victory, 
While we enjoy the friiits of peace at home : 
And being secured from our intestine foes, 
(Par worse than foreign enemies,) doubts and fears, 
Though all the sky were hung wiUi blazing meteors, 
Which fond astrologers give out to be 
Assured presages of the change of empires. 
And deaths of monarchs, we, nndaunted yet. 
Guarded with our own thunder, bid defiance 
To them and fate ; we being too strongly arm'd 
For them to wound us. 

Aret, C»sar ! 

Jul. As thou art 
More than a man — 

Can. Let not thy passions be 
Rebellious to thy reason — 

Domitil. But receive [Ddlptrt the pelithn. 

This trial of your constancy, as unmoved 
As you go to or from the capitol. 
Thanks given to Jove for triumphs. 

Cat. Ha! 

Domitil. Vouchsafe 
Awhile to stay the lightning of your eyes, 
Poor mortals dare not look on. 

Aret, There's no vein 
Of yours that rises with high rage, but is 
An earthquake to us. 

Domitil, And, if not kept closed 
With more than human patience, in a moment 
\^'ill swallow us to the centre. 

Can, Not that we 
Rfpine to serve her, are we her accusers. 

Jul. But that she's fallen so low. 

Aret, Which on sure proofs 
We can make good. 

Domitil. And shew she is unworthy 
Oi the least spark of that diviner fire 
Ton have conferred upon her. 

Cos. I stand doubtftil, 
And unresolved what to determine of you. 
In this mnhcious violence you have offered 
To the altar of her truth and pureness to me, 
Yoti have but fruitlessly laboured to sully 
A white robe of perfection, black-mouth'd envy 
Could belch no spot on. — But I will put off 
llie deity you labour to take from me, 
Abd argue out of probabilities with you, 
As if I were a man. Can I believe 
Toat she, tliat borrows all her light from me, 
\nd knows to use it, would betray her darkness 


To your intelligence ; and make that apparent. 
Which, by her perturbations in a play. 
Was yesterday but doubted, and find none 
But you, that are her slaves, and therefore hate her. 
Whose aids she might employ to make way for her ? 
Or Aretinus, whom long since she knew 
To be the cabinet counsellor, nay, the key 
Of Caesar's secrets ? Could her beauty raise her 
To this unequall'd height, to make her fall 
The more remarkable ? or must my desires 
To her, and wrongs to Lamia, be revenged 
By her, and on herself, tha*^ drew on both f 
Or she leave our imperial bed, to court 
A public actor ? 

Aret, Who dares contradict 
These more than human reasons, that have power 
To clothe base guilt in the most glorious shape 
Of innocence ? 

Domitil, Too well she knew the strength 
And eloquence of her patron to defend her. 
And thereupon presuming, fdll securely ; 
Not fearing an accuser, nor the truth 
Produced against her, which your love and favour 
Will ne'er discern from falsehood. 

Cm$. I'll not hear 
A syllable more that may invite a change 
In my opinion of her. You have raised 
A fiercer war within me by this fable. 
Though with your lives you vow to make it story. 
Than if, and at one instant, all my legions 
Revolted from me, and came arm'd a^inst me. 
Here in tliis paper are the swords pr^estined 
For my destruction ; here the fiital stara. 
That threaten more than ruin ; this the Death's 
That does assure me, if she can prove false, [head 
That I am mortal, which a sudden fever 
Would prompt me to believe, and faintly yield to. 
But now in my full confidence what she suffera. 
In that, from any witness but mjrself, 
I nourish a suspicion she's untrue. 
My toughness returns to me. Lead on, monstera. 
And, by the forfeit of your lives, confirm 
She is all ex